Amnesia
by Hitomi Zotz
Summary: On a stormy night a woman arrives in Riften chained and blindfolded with no memories. Taken in by the Thieves Guild out of intrigue and the possiblity that she might be worth something, the thieves quickly wonder if she is going to prove foe or friend to them. Unable to recall her name, her past or the reason for her imprisonment, it is only a matter of time before it catches up.
1. Chapter 1- Forgotten Prisoner

Darkness. A heavy pounding on the skull and a ringing in the ears. One step forward, keep going, keep walking, don't stop to think about what's going on, not yet. Rain, it was heavy, loud in the ears though not yet enough to silence the ringing. A cool and welcome respite, she tilted her head up slightly earning a scream of pain from her neck, and parted her cracked, bloody lips to taste a drop. So thirsty, when had she last drank? No, don't think about it, just keep going, keep walking. That was all she could understand now, all she could make sense of, she had to keep moving, she was not safe.

The rain was getting heavy; it was a mild irritation but not enough to compel him to turn towards sanctuary. He tensed slightly and turned cautiously in the darkness, spying out a stumbling shape, outlined by the faint torchlight that hissed and threatened to go out in the storm. A jagged bolt of white tore through the sky and a low rumble followed, signalling that it was time to find shelter not worry about drunken oafs. Despite this sensible thought he found himself still standing, barely under the edge of the wooden roof and almost completely exposed to the elements. There was something odd about the staggering form; they weren't moving like a drunk, his sharp eyes observed that much.

Forward, she heard the low rumble above and felt the rain grow heavier. She was out in a storm but where? Probably alone in the wilderness, edging towards a pit, a rocky slope or worse. It was hard to tell, her feet were swollen and soaked with blood, and she could no longer feel the surface of the ground beneath her to guess if it was stone, dirt or something else. She supposed she might feel strands of grass brushing against her if there was any but it was hard to tell. Keep going, keep going, the voice was relentless in her mind, a mixture of words and a primal instinct to survive. There were no other emotions, anything else would be too human and she was unwilling to face that just yet.

He had thought he was too old and experienced for surprises, now he knew that he had thought wrong. The form was a woman, staggering in part because of the metal cuffs chained together on her wrists and ankles, and also because of her wounds. In the dark he could not see how bad her injuries might be, nor could he tell anything else about her, except that she had nothing save the tattered clothes she wore. Hearing the clang of armour from the right that indicated guards approaching, someone treading gently to his left and the soft chatter of people from behind, indicating that people were about to leave the building he had been in soon, he knew he had to make a decision fast.

The person approaching from his left should have been unheard to anyone but having spent years practising such subtle steps himself and also listening for even the slightest noise, he just managed to detect them over the rain. It was like a sixth sense, he simply knew that they were out there even over the noise of the storm, and already he could feel their brown eyes on him. The guards were almost in view, the rain was pattering loudly off their armour, just a couple of minutes more before they noticed her. Another bolt of white, hot light ripped through the black sky, followed by a louder rumble.

She paused and tilted her head again, this time she just let herself feel the icy drops, they were heavy enough now to seep through the blindfold and soak her eyes. It was odd to feel some of the bloodstains and dirt being washed away, she had gotten used to them, like a second skin, to the point that she had forgotten they were there.

He watched her tilt her head up with a cold curiosity and knew assuredly that she was not a local prisoner, no would be runaway convict from here. For one thing she would not be moving this way, for another she would be attempting to run, thirdly, no prisoners he was aware of were blindfolded and finally, stupid as some guards could be, none would have missed her darting out of a cell with her cuffs still on her.

"Who in the Rift is that?"

Time was up; his newly arrived companion had noticed her. So the choice was set, abandon her to the rapidly approaching guards, who were trying to quicken their pace thanks to the weather and failing as they were now slogging through mud and puddles, or help her. He hugged his hood closer to his face and murmured in a gruff voice, "I don't know but it would be best to get her out of sight and then find out." He moved swiftly, betraying himself to be more than an average citizen. His companion followed with equal speed, his brown eyes widening a fraction as he took in the woman.

She halted as she heard a few splashes and tensed when two gloved hands grasped her by her bony shoulders and pulled her sharply to the left. She was too confused to scream and, she realised, too tired and sore to resist. She wondered vaguely what kind of foe had her and if perhaps the throbbing in her head and haziness in her mind would be ended now. She was still being pulled, over wood now; she could hear the low thunks of it beneath feet even through the rain. They were moving down steps. There was a salty smell in the air now, yes she remembered that, the sea, when had she last seen it?

Only when they were out of sight, beneath the docks and in the shadows, did he finally halt and take off her blindfold. Two bruised eyes looked back, black and cold in the darkness like a smooth piece of obsidian. "Who are you?" he demanded in his ever angry voice. "Where do you come from?"

Her lips cracked open painfully as she attempted an answer. Well she understood him, that was good at least, no language barrier. "I don't know," she answered softly, realising only now that it was all gone to her. All her memories, lost to the agony in her head, she tried briefly to recall something but it just made her skull sting more and she winced.

He shook her hard with both hands in an attempt to frighten her into the truth but all he got was a dull look in response. "Maybe I should leave you for the guards," he grumbled threateningly, "think how kindly they will treat someone already in chains."

"Not well I'd think," she answered coolly. The cuffs were heavy, and only now did she notice how they had cut into her skin and made it bleed, the blood was brown and sticky beneath the metal though she could not see it, only feel it rubbing uncomfortably when she was shook again.

"Why are you in chains?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she answered again. "I remember...nothing."

"Poor lass," his companion spoke up at last, an unseen form to her left. She turned her head slightly to spy him out, he was tall and muscular with hair to his shoulders, but that was all she could tell through the darkness and her swollen lids.

"If she's telling the truth," the first man growled.

"Well, dump her or bring her," the second male commented calmly as he folded her arms, "but that storm's getting worse, we need to find better shelter than right beside the water."

She could hear it rising to slap brazenly against the wooden paths and spray rudely against the walls; it was turning choppy in the wind. There was another rumble, longer than others and louder still, followed by the piercing shriek of the wind.

"You'd sink quick with those cuffs," her captor snarled at her.

She looked at him as calmly as she could, wondering if he was a captor, perhaps just a passerby trying to seize an opportunity. Funny how so many ordinary people were changed by simple circumstance rather than planning. He was fair skinned, with a brow wrinkled in frustration, and thick hair grown just past his ears. He was wearing armour but he was no guard, no, she wasn't sure what he was but definitely not that. "I would," she agreed with him, "but I'd rather not."

His companion cracked a smile and quipped, "quite the tongue for one in her state. Now, the weather's getting worse, we should move."

"Go Brynjolf if you're getting wet," he snapped angrily with a glower at the other man, "no one is asking you to stay."

The man, Brynjolf, shook his head scornfully and folded his arms. "Getting wet?" he echoed. "I think I've already gotten wet, there's not much more getting than this."

"I'm not trying to annoy you," she spoke up sincerely, "I really don't know who I am or where, or why..." She trailed off and turned her head to one side to spit up a mouthful of blood that was metallic to the taste. "Maybe I am a criminal," she murmured, "but I don't...well it doesn't matter." She turned her gaze back to his and commented, "that's all I can say."

He glowered back at her in frustration and wondered why he had bothered, to cheat the guards of something interesting? He supposed that was probably it, he had gotten greedy and neglected to consider that he might only be burdening himself. A bolt struck down from the sky, filling their eyes with its blinding light as it sliced a dock in two, singeing the edges before it reached down to them. She swung him round quickly, pushing him into the wall and hopefully safety, before throwing herself back.

Brynjolf let out a cry of alarm as a chunk of the path was turned to splinters. The woman fell backwards, dazed by the narrowly missed blow, her eyes flashing with red dots and the weight of the cuffs pulling her down. She was being drenched from all angles now, struck by rain and stung by the sea, it made her eyes ache and her nostrils twitch in disgust.

He moved quicker than she had, grabbed the chain between her hands with his right hand and wrenched her back in a split decision. "Let's go," he snapped before pulling her on. It was done now, he had made his choice and he would stick to it.

They moved back up, keeping to the shadows though it was unnecessary, only a few guards dared to continue patrolling the streets, and they kept to beneath the shelters of stretching rooftops and under stone bridges. Their feet moved over stone and then grass, she could see their surroundings in the pale glint of dying torches that danced in the wind and sank beneath the raindrops. There were tombstones, all small, arched and of varying shades of grey, their engravings lost to the night. She glimpsed a few statues; some small, iron fences and a few mercilessly battered offerings of flowers before she found herself being pulled down.

It was Brynjolf who pulled the chain hanging harmlessly against the wall, causing the false tomb to slide back and grant them passage down to a wooden circle placed in the ground. He took out a key hanging about his neck, bent down and unlocked the keyhole in the circle before pulling it open. Down into a dark, unforgiving pit, down beneath the earth, this was familiar, this she would resist! She jerked back but his grip was as tight as the metal that bloodied her wrists. A scream escaped her but it was lost to the wind.

She screamed again but either her captor did not hear her or chose not to. "Not the dark," she murmured, "not in the earth, it's too deep!"

He paid her babblings no heed, wrenched her down and shut the wooden circle with his free hand, leaving Brynjolf to lock it again.

She did not scream again, it was too late, she was down here and the exit was sealed. 'Why is it so troubling?' she wondered as her eyes rolled about with uncertainty. There were torches down here, hanging on the walls, their amber light unhindered by the weather. It was part of a building, all cobbled stone and dirt with wooden bridges and steps and water. There was a large ring of sparkling water wrapped around a circle of stone, and it seemed to drip and ripple from every wall. There was a horrid stench to it though, something akin to waste and rot. She had smelled worse before in darker pits, the slow decay of bodies, the drying of blood birthed from torture. She shuddered, wondering if these brief flashes of dark memories were really better than no memories at all.

He tugged her under a torch and turned to study her better. She was in a worse state than he had thought, her hair was black from dirt, tangled with grime and blood, her skin was smeared brown, and her clothes little more than rags. It was impossible to tell her origins, though he hazarded a guess from her sharp cheekbones and chin that she might be an Imperial, then again she might simply have an angular face from hunger. There was no question that she had not eaten properly in a long time. "What a waste," he grumbled.

She studied him in turn with less disapproval; he had pale grey eyes, greying brown hair, the sparest hint of a moustache and creases at his lips from permanent scowling. He was older than her, somewhere in his forties she guessed, his armour was dark and in relatively condition, and he had two swords strapped to his belt. "Who are you?" she demanded at last.

His lip curled up in a sneer as he considered mocking her with a refusal to match her own inability to give information. Alas, before he could a woman called out, "what have you brought back?" She approached them with bold inquisitiveness, her frosty golden-brown eyes widening just a fraction as she took in the woman. "A person," she remarked dryly, "are we in the business of stealing those now?"

"She was out in the storm Vex," Brynjolf answered before the brown haired man could give an angry response. "Just as she is, lass says she doesn't remember anything."

"How troubling," the woman, Vex, replied dismissively.

The woman looked to her enquiringly and found a stern faced, slender female looking back, her skin was a pale shade of yellow in the torchlight, and her severely straight hair almost white. She too was clad in black, though it was mostly leather apart from the guards at her knees and shoulders. Like the men she was armed, with a dagger slung through her belt, its point left naked.

"Well you imagine yourself bound in a storm with no memory," Brynjolf suggested, "and no clue about your origins, troubling would be the right word."

Vex bit back a venomous retort and instead looked to the man holding the girl's chain. "Do you have a plan for her Mercer?"

The answering look the pale haired woman received immediately made her regret the question. He was quietly furious that she had not only questioned his intentions but given his name. 'Well she was going to hear it soon enough,' he thought grudgingly as his pale grey gaze shifted back to the girl. He noticed at last that while her right eye was a murky green the left was a gleaming silver, a vibrant spark of light just shining out from the swelling. "Yes," he snapped at last before looking about the large, round chamber they stood in. He spotted a hooded man armed with a long bow, and a sheath of arrows at his back. "Cynric," he addressed him loudly and brusquely, "here now!"

The named man swallowed down a groan before approaching them casually, brave enough not to run at Mercer's call but not so bold as to ignore it altogether. Besides, he was as intrigued about the woman as Vex. It wasn't like their Guild Master to bring back people of any sort to their humble abode. He paused and looked to Mercer from under the folds of his hood with as helpful and unthreatening an expression as he could manage.

"You're good with locks," Mercer grumbled at him, "get the cuffs off her." He pushed her forward to the man who inwardly sighed, not daring to do it aloud, before he examined her briskly. They both knew Mercer could have the cuffs off in the blink of an eye if he so chose but the perks of being Guildmaster included getting others to do your work for you.

Cynric was young looking, fair skinned and pleasing to the eye with dark stubble tamed into a thin, down pointing moustache and neat beard, a few telltale scars on his left cheek and vibrant blue eyes that almost seemed to glow as they caught the flickering amber flames of the torches. He wore brown, it was less imposing than the black and less protective as well, comprising of dark, baggy trousers, knee high chocolate brown boots, and a tan tunic with greaves and shoulder pads for protection. He slung his bow over his left shoulder carelessly, hunted out a lockpick from his right sleeve and reached out a hand to her left one.

She flinched to feel his warm touch, having only Mercer's cold, damp one to compare it to. Cynric flinched too, startled by how icy her fingers were. He straightened her arm gently and said, "keep it still," before releasing it. He pressed the lockpick into the lock of the cuff and began twisting it round; it shuddered just once before clicking free. He prised the cuff off and she immediately gritted her teeth in pain as the cuts beneath it opened anew and fresh blood came out. "You've had these on for a while," the young thief observed chirpily. They were thick, stronger than the standard cuffs of your average jail cell, and, he observed as he began to work on the second one, hard to unlock too. Whoever she was someone had wanted to ensure she stayed a captive.

When the right cuff came free, the young thief let them drop to the ground harmlessly before bending down to work on the cuffs on her ankles. 'I bet Mercer just didn't want to kneel before a woman,' Cynric thought to himself snidely as he worked on the cuffs. 'It's not like he would break a sweat with these.' He studied them closely, they were made of several metals melted together, ended up a dark grey in colour, it was hard to tell them apart from any other cuffs save to say that they had been designed stronger than most. 'Probably not from a local jail cell,' he thought to himself, 'but maybe a more royal prison, or some noble's dungeon, or worse.'

When the cuffs finally came off her ankles she finally shook her wrists out and then her ankles, a look of surprise filling her eyes briefly. It was too strange a feeling for her to think of the removal of her bonds as relief. 'How long were they on?' she wondered as she studied her wrists, which were blackened with blood and dirt and gradually turning crimson as fresh blood stained them.

"She's bleeding badly," Vex commented sardonically, though it was unclear whom she was addressing as she deliberately kept her eyes on the woman.

Cynric stood up and took a couple of steps back. "Well injuries aren't my department I'm afraid," he remarked blithely.

"No, jail breaking was," Mercer growled at him, "and as I recall, you weren't too good at it."

Cynric frowned beneath his hood but said nothing, knowing like everyone else that arguing with Mercer was as wise as poking a Frost Troll. "I think Etienne knows a bit about healing," he commented in an attempt to divert attention from himself.

"Go and get him then," Mercer snapped.

"Vex get Tonilia," Brynjolf requested, "she should have some bandages and herbs."

Vex gritted her teeth, unwilling to be bossed about by the redhead, especially when it was for a stranger but, averse to risking a rebuttal from Mercer if she disobeyed their second, she turned and walked off slowly.

Brynjolf gave a small, tight grin as he watched the pale haired woman go, knowing he would probably receive a curt comment or two from her later, he might be her superior but only just, Vex was third in the Guild and considered herself above running errands. He would have gone himself but he was unsure about Mercer's motives when it came to the stranger and he was reluctant to just leave the pair.

The woman looked about her with a dull curiosity wondering what illegal profession these people were guilty off, knowing that very few law abiding citizens chose to dwell underground. She knew she should be scared or worried but could not find the energy to feel either emotion, her strength had been zapped with her few ignored screams. Satisfied that she had not been dragged back to whatever underground torment her mind was trying to block out she was content to stand in silence.

Cynric returned hastily with a man somewhere in his early twenties, he wore the same dull, brown uniform as Cynric though it hung looser on him and he was unarmed. Clean shaven, he had a serious blue gaze that he turned on the woman quickly. "What happened to her?" he queried.

"I don't remember," she answered him quietly as she met his revolted gaze.

"So you claim," Mercer grumbled, still unconvinced that someone could recall nothing about themselves, not even a name.

"Well she will need cleaned," Etienne said sternly, "I can't even see half the injuries for muck." He glanced back up at her mismatched gaze, realising that he was being rude, talking about her as if she were mute, deaf or simply not in the room. "There's a room for washing," he explained to her, "it's not much but it will do, your wounds need cleansed first."

She nodded agreeably, it was logical of course.

A dark skinned woman arrived with a scowl, carrying a brown, leather satchel of goods. "You wanted things to help with wounds?" she queried sharply, her yellow gaze darting from Mercer to Brynjolf and finally the woman. "Well don't you look colourful," she remarked dryly. "I've seen all types brought down here," she continued, "but never one that looked like they would drop dead on the first day, can't imagine you will bring us much gold."

"Tonilia," Brynjolf interrupted with a gentle but firm look, "give Etienne the goods." He nodded to the younger man.

The woman sighed, rolled her eyes, lifted the satchel's strap off her shoulder and then thrust it into Etienne rudely. "Fine," she grumbled, "I hope I see some coin for these things though, they're expensive you know and meant to be for people injured on the job."

"Well we'll just have to take care of ourselves until you can replace them," the redhead retorted lightly with a chuckle. "Don't worry though; you will have your coin." He glanced briefly at Mercer and knew that it was unlikely it would be the Guild Master who would reimburse the fence.

"That will have to do I suppose," she muttered before turning and hurrying back the way she had come.

"Let's go then," Etienne addressed the woman, "follow me."

"I'll be right behind you," Mercer growled at her warningly, not ready to let her out of his sight. In truth he was curious to see what was under the muck and blood, maybe a clue to her origins.

Etienne led the way, taking care to be slow so that the woman could keep up. He wove the way through narrow tunnels of dirt and stone before leading them through a wooden door to a small, well-lit room in which a natural stream trickled in a small flow from the wall and into a stone basin set against the wall below, with three small holes to allow the water to continue on into the ground. There was a small fireplace behind with a black kettle hanging above it to boil water in, and against the wall were two large, wooden basins, big enough to hold a full grown person in, several dirty looking towels, sponges and two bars of soap, one formerly lemon yellow and one ivory, both now varying shades of brown. Etienne grimaced slightly at the sight before lifting the kettle and holding it under the stream. He knew the woman could bleed out but reasoned that if she had survived so far she could last a little longer and if not, well it was Mercer and Brynjolf who had brought her here; let them deal with the body.

"I'll do that," Brynjolf, a little more concerned, offered, taking the kettle from Etienne, "you start fixing what you can."

"Very well," Etienne murmured. He reached for one of the cleaner looking sponges, held it under the stream, and then turned to the woman. "Wrists first," he said in a matter-of-fact way. She held them out obediently and he scrubbed them hard. Brynjolf hung the kettle over the fire whilst Etienne rinsed and soaked the sponge repeatedly. He scrubbed as hard as he dared until most of the grime was gone, next he hunted in the satchel for a glass bottle of healing potion and poured it on each wrist liberally. Though it stung the woman did not resist, it was certainly no worse than the pains she already bore and she knew it would go numb soon. Once that was done, Etienne bandaged them up and began to scrub at her ankles.

When the kettle had boiled Brynjolf poured it into one of the basins and returned to refill it. All the while Mercer watched with folded arms and an impatient gaze. After the kettle had been filled four times, Brynjolf then filled a much larger cauldron with cold water and added it to the basin, once this was done Etienne turned to the woman expectantly. "You should..." He paused for a moment and his cheeks turned a faint pink beneath his hood. "Well you should wash now," he added hastily.

"It's alright lass," Brynjolf said assuredly, "we'll wait outside, if you can manage it alone."

"No we won't," Mercer snapped, "not when you could be a mage or assassin or some other trickster."

"Mercer," Brynjolf protested as he looked to his superior calmly, "she's too wounded to try anything, and we can stay outside."

"I won't try anything," the woman said as she looked to the older man with a neutral stare, "but you can all stay if you don't trust me, I don't mind." She turned her back to the three without waiting for an answer, stepped up to the basin and began to shed her tattered clothes with some difficulty. Though it hurt, she managed it without too many gasps of pain, and at last was able to step into the water. She let out a yelp then as the water instantly stung her bruised and bloody ankles, followed by a groan as she slid down uneasily and let the lukewarm drops invade her broken flesh.

"She'll need new clothes," Brynjolf commented as he purposely stared at the wall.

"Go and get some then," Mercer snapped.

The redhead frowned a little realising his folly, but then if he didn't get the clothes who would? Etienne had to tend her wounds and Mercer wouldn't go. 'I'll just have to be quick about it,' he told himself as he nodded and hurried from the room. He reasoned with himself as he went that Mercer had hardly rescued the woman just to kill her and they were thieves not assassins after all but still, he was uneasy, after all what did the Guild Master want with the woman? 'Maybe he thinks she'll fetch a good reward from someone,' he thought.

She scrubbed forcefully with a sponge until the water was black and her entire body was flushed red with the strain. Etienne filled the cauldron with water from the stream again and brought it over. "For rinsing," he explained, "if you'll...let me pour it over you."

She nodded calmly, keeping her back to him and her slender arms wrapped about herself. She shut her eyes tightly and flinched when the thief emptied the cauldron over her, chilling her to the bone and drenching her tattered locks. She stood up after that, revealing a form bruised all over and bony, barely there and not the least bit appealing. She wrung out her hair and grabbed one of the threadbare towels, with effort she dried herself and wrapped the towel clumsily about her form.

"I should tend that wound on your back," Etienne suggested, "it looks infected." It was deep, at the small of her back with a few choice pink scars stretching from it and golden-green pus spilling out with fresh blood.

"Alright," she said softly, pulling the towel down about her waist and standing still, "go ahead."

She was so unruffled about everything that Mercer was becoming irritated with her, how could someone who had been beaten so badly let strangers take her and tend her so easily? Should she not be hurling curses at them, bawling in the corner, or begging for freedom or mercy? Did she expect these things eventually or had she simply been struck so many times that she did not care? It was the mystery about her that annoyed him most, he knew nothing about her, given how easily he could study and read people, it was an insult to his talents to struggle so. Yet it was the mystery that had compelled him to snatch her before the guards could, bring her here and order his thieves to help her. Curiosity and greed, a thief's two biggest weakness, they always wanted to know what was behind that locked chest, or door, why there needed to be so many bolts, spells or guards for protection, what could be so valuable? Or in this case who could be so valuable or threatening to be bruised, cut and bound in the manner she had been?

Etienne used a cloth, a creamy coloured ointment and yet another generous sprinkling of a healing potion to tend the girl's wound though he privately thought that a real healer or at least, master of apothecaries would need to look at it. His skills came from personal usage over the years and having an older sister who was an assistant in an apothecary, he knew certain herbs and flowers that could be used to stop poisons festering and help the skin knit quicker, and potions to cool fevers or prevent infection, but his knowledge was limited and his best talents were bandaging and stitching.

After Etienne wrapped the wound up tightly in a bandage, Brynjolf returned with some 'borrowed' garments for the woman. He had guessed at her size, rushing to grab something from a collection of stolen clothes kept in a chest, ready to be sold or worn. He handed her undergarments, a pair of black trousers torn at the knees and a brown shirt that had been patched at the elbows. She accepted them with a grateful nod and stepped out of the basin at last, allowing Etienne to bandage up her ankles before she put on the clothes.

Dry and changed, she turned to them at last, a fair skinned young woman with small freckles on either side of her small nose, slightly pointed ears, an angular face that was probably pleasing with more flesh on it, and a tumble of tangled, coppery brown waves.

'Could be a Breton or an Imperial,' Mercer thought, 'maybe a Nord, I don't think she's pale enough, though she might have some of their blood in her, of course her accent's giving nothing away, just the wider Skyrim dialect. She probably is a mutt with origins all over, but where was she a prisoner?'

"Remember anything yet?" the Guild Master queried bitingly.

The young woman shook her head, not as bothered about her amnesia as Mercer. Maybe when she had slept and started to heal she supposed she would care more but for the moment she focused only on the present and satisfying her baser needs.

"She," Etienne paused and turned his shaded gaze from Mercer to the woman, "you," he corrected himself, "should eat something, and then rest."

"Good idea," Brynjolf enthused.

Mercer frowned, he wanted to question her more, hound her until he got something, even just a scrap of information about who she was. 'Divines be damned she worse than Rune,' he cursed in his head.

"Come on lass," the redhead said, "let's see if we can find you something edible and somewhere to sleep."

Mercer's frown deepened at this, he knew he had brought it on himself by bringing her down here. He had made the choice and he had to stand by it now or risk looking foolish in front of the guild members, but it was risky letting an unknown woman stay in their domain. He did not want to let her out of his sight either until he had some information out of her but he conceded that she did need to rest and that he had important guild issues to deal with. He let Brynjolf lead the way out but stayed with them as the redhead went to one of the storage rooms to find some food for the woman. Etienne remained with them too, inquisitive and eager to see that she was properly rested. He helped Brynjolf gather some food and carried it in his newly acquired satchel as Brynjolf led the way to an open room where a collection of worn beds sat. He turned to the chestnut auburn haired woman and quipped, "this will have to do lass, not the cleanest but not the worst."

"It's," she paused and looked to the beds, they were singular and wooden with a flat mattress, a single, battered pillow and a thin blanket, "perfect," she said sincerely. She could not recall when she had last slept soundly or softly.

"We won't be far," Mercer informed her, meaning it as a threat rather than a comfort, "so don't think of running or hiding, it will only be a matter of time before I find you."

Brynjolf shook his head scornfully before giving the woman a consoling smile. "Don't make an enemy of us lass and we won't make one of you, you're a guest here not a prisoner, eat and rest and we'll talk more tomorrow."

She sat down on the edge of a bed in the middle, trying not to show the fear Mercer's words had filled her with. Truthfully she had no notion of running or hiding, it would be foolish when she had no idea where she was and no strength to do it, but the idea that she could never escape this man chilled her.

Etienne sat beside her with a spacious gap between them, on which he rested the satchel. "What would you like to eat?" he queried tranquilly. "There's cheese, apples, bread." He looked up and saw how ravenous she had suddenly become, her eyes growing wide as he listed the foods and her cracked lips parting.

"Anything," she answered hungrily.

He turned the open satchel round, offering the goods to her. "Help yourself."

She grabbed a chunk of bread and shoved it into her mouth with both hands, chewing at it greedily. She was so eager to swallow she almost choked and spluttered a couple of times before it went down. Mercer shook his head with disgust whilst Brynjolf gave a small smile as she reached for an apple before the bread was done, raising it for a bite as she continue to chew the bread. When the bread was gone and the apple halfway done the woman suddenly began to retch, doubling over and choking until a thin trickle of pale yellow vomit came up and splattered onto the floor.

Etienne sighed and said gently, "you haven't eaten in a long time, have you? Your stomach's not used to the gorging."

"Disgusting," Mercer snapped. "I have business to attend to now," he commented, "but don't think offering you help means we trust you, if you are a threat I will cut you down and spit on your corpse."

She visibly flinched at the ice in his eyes and nodded. "I understand," she retorted, honestly but still calm.

He shook his head, turned from them and walked off. Once Brynjolf heard the door slam shut down the hall he remarked cheerfully, "don't mind him lass, we just have to be careful over who we trust given our profession. If you're not a threat to us no harm will come to you from anyone down here," he assured, "not even Mercer. He has a temper; just...stay on his good side."

"Does he have one?" she wondered aloud.

Brynjolf laughed and Etienne smiled at that. "Somewhere lass," Brynjolf answered. "Now, I have to go too but if you need anything, just ask. This is an open area, as you can see, so there's usually someone wandering about or resting here, if you want me I will either be through that door," he pointed to one on the right, "down the hall and in the chamber on the left, or down this hall, second on the right, then left, then third door on the right, then left again."

She nodded, though they both knew she was unlikely to remember that.

"I'll come back in the morning anyway," he offered.

"Where is here anyway?" she dared to ask.

Etienne looked to her with mild surprise, and then to Brynjolf, did she really not know? 'Risky,' he thought.

Brynjolf smiled. "Welcome to Riften's Thieves Guild lass."


	2. Chapter 2- Fear

_Pain. Red eyes. Fire. The images came at once in a terrible blur, her flesh ached, she tried to scream. There were other people. There were other things too, hissing in the dark._

"Wakey wakey!"

Her mismatched eyes flashed open, widening at the sight of Cynric Endell's mocking face. He released her shoulders and leaned back slightly before commenting, "you looked like you were having a nightmare, though you weren't screaming."

"I couldn't scream," she answered calmly. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly as her wrists protested at the gesture. Cyrnic leaned back further, though he remained perched on the bed, his legs hunched on either side of her. "Thank you for waking me." She frowned slightly, trying to recall the nightmare though she was reluctant to. She remembered the fear she had felt, heart stopping terror, it had made her quiver and cry, but the cause of it she could not evoke.

Cynric nodded before springing lifting off the bed and standing up straight. "I was just passing by," he explained swiftly, "and it's morning anyway."

"How can you tell?" she wondered aloud as she looked about their gloomy surroundings. The torches had burned down a little but she could not guess how many hours she had slept for or what time of day it might be. It was a perpetually shadowy place, it had life in it though, there was always noise and subdued flickers of golden firelight. She could not feel afraid of the place, though her stay had been short so far she realised now it was nothing like the prison she had mistaken it for when first dragged down, that place, just out of reach of her mind, had been black and often thick with silence, it was the inside of a coffin, a pit in the world of the dead.

Cynric gave her a mocking smile from beneath his brown cowl. "I was out at sunrise; it was a pleasant one after that storm last night, though everything's still wet. Anyway, I should get going and I'm sure Mercer will be along soon to interrogate you." He paused to look at her carefully with his vibrant blue eyes, trying to spy out her reaction but she kept up her elusive calmness and gave nothing away. "Bye then." He turned and hurried off before she could reply, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls as he took no care to be subtle with his steps.

She swallowed hard and found her throat dry and in need of refreshment. Her stomach gave an expectant growl as well and she turned to the satchel Etienne had left for her on a wooden cabinet beside the bed. Starving but having learned from her vomiting, she took care to eat slowly this time, though it was agonising to do so. She plucked out a soft, red apple and bit into its tender flesh, taking time to suckle on its sweet juice and curb some of her thirst.

"Eating less wildly this time, well it's an improvement." She turned at the growl to face Mercer's pale and disapproving gaze. She had not even heard him approaching, he moved like a shadow, keeping even his breathing to a minimal. He was clad in black again, this time a mixture of leather and wool, no armour, though his swords were once again sheathed on his belt and he still looked formidable.

She continued to bite at the apple, too hungry to put it down though she knew the older man was going to be questioning her, asking her things she frustratingly had no answers to. She glanced to her wrists briefly and then her ankles, it felt strange without the cuffs and she almost did not like it, though she knew that was stranger still. 'Did I have them on for so long that they became a part of me?' she wondered.

"Do you remember your name yet?" Mercer queried bluntly. He had slept soundly but only briefly through the night, too many matters concerned him and now this woman had been added to his problems. He was already impatient to know something about her and knew he could not wait even a day never mind longer. If she gave him nothing he would be forced to start hunting for information, asking subtly about Riften and perhaps further out, she could not have wandered unnoticed in her state, there must be some witnesses nearby but if so, why had no one else thought to take advantage? 'Fear,' he thought to himself with disgust, now there was an emotion Mercer Frey did not know, at least as far as he was concerned. There was no foe he could not best, no lock that could keep him and he had never been at risk of capture or any severe injury in over ten years. Equally there had been no person he could not crack, until now. The worst, he decided, was that she genuinely did not seem to be trying to resist or evade his questions; she actually seemed to have forgotten herself.

"No," she admitted as she started to chew on the apple core.

"Don't eat that," he snarled, wrinkling his nose slightly in revulsion. He understood hunger and waste but even they, the downtrodden thieves, rats of the sewer, did not resort to eating unwanted scraps, let the beggars be forced to do that, the thieves could steal their food and buy it with stolen coin if necessary.

She looked to the core, reluctant to waste it, it had been too long since she had truly eaten, any food seemed precious to her, even the already decaying remains of something. She would willingly suck the marrow from bones if given the chance.

"I'm sure there's more in the satchel if you're still hungry," Mercer snapped as he watched her contemplate ignoring him and eating the core anyway. One thing he would not be, by anyone, was ignored.

She sat the core beside the satchel at last before tugging out some bread from the satchel and eating it. She stretched out her right hand as she ate and looked at the scars on it, mystified. 'How many hurts were done to me?' she pondered. 'And how long for? Are these the injuries of years, months or weeks? From the same person or many? Did I deserve them?' Her eyes filled with aggravation and she let the arm drop by her side. "I know nothing," she said at last, feeling his eyes bore into her, "not my age, my name, my home or why I came to you wounded, blindfolded and in chains."

'To me?' he thought with a snort of derision. 'To Riften, she could have wandered to anyone unwittingly.' He kept these thoughts to himself though, knowing it was pointless to say them. "No clues at all?" he pressed for information. "No memories? No flashbacks in your sleep?"

She looked at him sharply then, wondering if he knew more than he was letting on. Had he seen her troubled in her sleep as Cynric had? Had she cried out then? Cyrnic had said she was silent, unable to scream. "Fear," she confessed, "I remember fear, a strong, terrible horror, it turned my blood cold, made my body quiver and my senses desert me. It was all I knew but the cause of it I cannot remember."

"Or will not," Mercer suggested with a scowl. "Maybe fear drives you to forget."

"No." She shook her head, instantly dismissing his accusation. "I don't feel that fear now, I felt it for so long that eventually it left me, or I grew so used to it that I simply forgot it was there. Even to remember something, something terrible, would be better than nothing. You seem annoyed about my inability to recall myself, think how I feel."

He folded his arms and thought to himself, 'annoyed is putting it lightly.' "I think you have something you want to forget," he insinuated. "Well for now, you can stay here but you will have to make yourself useful. You won't be going back up to Riften mind, not until I figure out if you're wanted here or not."

"I won't run from you," she said, guessing at his real concern, "where would I go?"

He shrugged. "Anywhere, it makes no difference to you, not that anywhere would take you in without coin, save the prison, you're too old for the orphanage. Just find some use down here for now." He started to walk off, determined to send out the thieves for information, although he would be subtle about it of course. They could listen to rumours while on other jobs, simply keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

After that she rose quietly to hunt for a place to relieve herself, she bumped into Tonilia on her wanderings, though she could not recall the fierce eyed Redguard woman's name. She had met too many people down here last night to remember each name, and she knew there were many more still to meet. "Well you're looking a little better," the dark haired woman observed, "maybe just one foot in the grave now instead of both. Got to give that thief credit, he's done good work for an amateur."

The dark auburn haired woman nodded politely in agreement. "Thank you for the potions and ointments," she said.

Tonilia shook her head with angry dismissal. "Don't thank me; if I wasn't promised coin for them you wouldn't have gotten their usage. Now, is there something you need?" she queried severely, making it clear that she had no interest in helping the stranger. To Tonilia strangers weren't just a threat to the Guild but a risk to her relationship with Vekel, her business and her general standing in the guild. Any newbie could take a fancy to Vekel, or think themselves smart enough to be a better fence than she was.

"Where can I go to relieve myself?" the woman asked quietly.

Tonilia rolled her brown eyes and jerked her head to a door on the right. "Through there, then left, then the second door on the right."

"Thank you." The woman followed the Redguard's directions and found herself in a small room that stank more than the rest of the Guild. It had a few chamber pots and a narrow flow of water, which ran down the wall with a gap between it and the floor for people to relieve themselves into. Hastily she alleviated her bowels before washing her hands beneath the small waterfall and heading back out. She wondered what exactly Mercer wanted her to busy herself with- cleaning, cooking or something less mundane? She knew she owed him and the others for helping her and was happy to repay them how she could but her skills were limited and she suspected that she would not meet the Guild Master's expectations.

Etienne came across her in the Cistern and was quick to approach her and ask, "how are your wounds?" He was matter of fact about it, not so much concerned for her as concerned about what Mercer might do if the woman worsened or died. He did not know her, why should he feel for her?

"Some are sore, others numb," she answered truthfully, "they are healing though, thank you."

"What about the one on your back?" he queried. It had been the worst as far as he could tell, and he worried that he had not gotten to the infection in time.

"The most painful," she admitted, "but that's to be expected."

He frowned slightly beneath his hood and murmured, "I should look at it. Come over here, I've got some clean bandages on me." He led her to a private area to the left of the cistern where a cluttered bookshelf and forgotten barrels offered them some shelter. She turned her back to him and lifted her top slightly. Etienne frowned when he saw bloodstains on the bandage, carmine spots, thick in the middle and thin around the edges of the wound. He unbound the bandage with care, crumpled it up and discarded it into a wooden basket sitting in the shadow of the bookshelf. The wound still burned fierce, thick and yellow at the edges and a damp crimson in the middle. He produced a healing potion from his right pocket and rubbed it on liberally with a cloth before wrapping a new bandage about it. He stood up, wiped his hands against his thighs and murmured, "you will need a healer to look at it, I'll let Brynjolf know."

She turned her head slightly to face him and nodded with a look of gratitude. The young thief was puzzled by her lack of worry and wondered if she had suffered too much to care or was simply too used to infections to be bothered by them. "In the mean time, don't put too much strain on it," he advised.

"I won't, thanks again."

Etienne nodded before darting off through one of the many doors in the place. When he had initially come to the Guild he found it labyrinth like with the deadly Ratway- a maze of sewer tunnels, booby-trapped chambers and the shady, insane members of Riften. He imagined the young woman found it the same and hoped that she did not think to wander to The Ratway Warrens unwittingly. 'Perhaps I should have warned her,' he thought dryly.

As she turned her attention back to the Cistern she caught Cynric's amused gaze. He was standing on the opposite side of the room in a small, unblocked chamber holding a long bow, he had been about to pull an arrow from the quiver at his back until he had spotted her. His companion, the archer Niruin had noticed her too but chosen to continue with practising his skills with the longbow. 'Let Mercer keep his business to himself,' the Bosmer archer had thought dismissively upon spying the lost looking woman.

Cynric studied her; she did not look shaken so he supposed Mercer had not been harsh with her or had not had the time to be harsh with her. 'What will he do with her?' the former jail breaker wondered. 'Does he think she's worth something? Doesn't look like it, but a lot of valuable prisoners never do.' He slung his bow over his shoulder and approached her casually. "Anything I can help you with?" he questioned.

She looked at the Breton and said, "he told me to make myself useful."

"He? Mercer?" Cynric guessed.

She nodded.

"You can call him by his name, he's not a Daedra, he won't appear in a flash if you say it. Well he usually won't, although he can be very quiet at moving, sometimes even I don't hear him," he confessed. He lowered his hood with one hand and smiled at the woman in an attempt to put her at ease, although she did not seem too anxious to him. 'Maybe she's just good at hiding it,' he thought to himself.

She gave a thin smile in response, stretching out her cracked lips and crinkling the purple bruise on her left cheek. "I don't know him; it seems rude to speak of him so familiarly."

Cynric laughed at this, causing Niruin to look their way with suspicion. "No one knows him," he mused, "except maybe Brynjolf, well alright I can tell you some things about him but we're allies, not friends. Look, down here we go by first names, it's easier. You could call him Mr. Frey if you want but he'd probably curse at you for it and everyone else would laugh. He's Mercer, I'm Cyrnic, the archer," he gestured back with the thumb of his left hand, "is Niruin, and you've met others. If you're here long enough you'll get to know our names soon enough." He paused and placed his right hand under his chin thoughtfully. "When will we get to know your name?"

She thought hard about it hoping some hint of it would come. Had she been named for a parent? Who were her parents? Did they still live? Were there siblings? Did they know she was gone, did they care? She shook her head helplessly and retorted, "I don't know."

"Ah well, it's alright," he assured brightly, "no one knows Sapphire's real name either, or Rune's. Guess you will just have to make do with a nickname like them," Cynric suggested, "otherwise everyone is just going to call you woman, stranger, girl and worse." His grin widened.

"That's a good idea," Brynjolf enthused as he walked over to them, having just entered the Cistern through the wooden doors that led to their local tavern, The Ragged Flagon. "I hear your memory's still gone lass." He gave her a sympathetic look. "It's a shame but no fear, it will return soon in the meantime. Until then, what would you like to be called?"

She thought on it for a moment but anything that came to mind just felt wrong, no name suited and she could think of no traits that would create a nickname. She shrugged at the tall Nord and murmured, "I don't know." She frowned; sick of hearing herself say those same words over and over. 'Why don't I know?' she wondered in anger. 'Why is there nothing left of me in my head?'

Brynjolf saw the irritation that burned in her eyes; it mirrored the flames in his Guild Master's gaze when the redhead had asked him about the woman.

"Amaris," Cynric spoke up, "I knew an Amaris once, good enough name, why don't you borrow it until you remember your own?"

The woman could not tell if the older thief was mocking her or not, but she decided that she did not care as the name was nice enough. She nodded and sounded it out along her tongue- "A-ma-riss."

Cynric chuckled and Brynjolf gave a small smile. 'At least we have something to call her now,' he thought, 'though I doubt Mercer will be satisfied.'

It was not her own name, probably not even close but she liked it even if it was odd on the tongue. At least now she would have an answer to one of Mercer's questions even if it was not the truth.

"Now," Brynjolf said, "Etienne says you need a healer to look at your back. There are a few in the city I know and could persuade to come down to look at it for some coin."

"Come down?" Cynric echoed. His blue gaze flickered over to the newly named Amaris and he queried sardonically, "not allowed out to play anymore?"

Brynjolf frowned slightly at the younger man. "With wounds like hers she's best not wandering too far."

"Yes that's it I'm sure," Cynric retorted innocently, earning a scolding look from the redhead which he answered with a smile.

"Maybe you could teach her a few things until I have time to fetch a healer," Brynjolf suggested with a small smile.

Cynric folded his arms and queried wryly, "are we recruiting her?"

"Recruiting?" Amaris questioned in puzzlement.

Brynjolf turned to her with a warm, brown gaze. "To the Thieves Guild lass, don't worry though you will always have a choice in the matter, if Mercer does decide to recruit you, but I don't think he has planned that far ahead."

"Well some archery lessons then," Cyrnic suggested, "it's useful for anyone- hunter, warrior, thief, assassin or simple defender and I think maybe you need some fighting technique. Of course with your wounds still being raw you can just observe." He turned and started walking back to where Niruin was still practising. "Come on," he called her on.

She followed after him and Brynjolf headed towards one of the many exits out of the Thieves Guild.

Riften was a tangle of rumours, lies and intrigue; it was easy to miss things that tied together, their links often unclear at first. There was after all not just the Nord uprising and the bloody Imperial subduing to contend with in the wake of Ulfric Stormcloak's murder of the High King but the personal problems of Riften as well, the crushing steel boot of Maven Black-Briar who dealt with Thalmor, thieves and assassins alike, the corruption of the guards and the attempts to seize some power by Jarl Lalia Law-Giver. It was all politics, the Thieves Guild was meant to be the power in the city but lately that had been slipping, they were losing their edge and Maven seemed to think she held the same dominance over them as Mercer, though the thieves were smart enough not to agree.

As it was, when evening came, Mercer found himself bombarded with information considered 'suspicious, useful, mysterious, unusual,' and, as Vipir the Fleet had felt the need to mention, 'creepy'. There were stories of creatures on the outskirts of Riften, of things that scuttled across the ground in the night, hissed in the shadows and looked out at wary travellers with yellow eyes, and of course warnings of disappearances and bloody corpses turning up to go with them. Mercer paid them no heed, Skyrim was a dangerous place, and there were many things in the wilderness to kill you without the recent addition of dragons and an increasing boldness in the undead draugr and skeletons.

Talk of necromancers wandering through the city did not concern him either or murmurs of members of the Dark Brotherhood striking out at two unsuspecting folk, one a middle-class woman and the other barely an adult male from a distinct noble family. The rumours about slave ships had intrigued him slightly but there was little evidence to suggest any had come near Riften and there was no mentioning of wrecks she might have escaped from.

The only ones with news were a couple of male thieves in their thirties who had recently robbed Merryfair Farm, remarking how they had been relieved to return to Riften just before the storm. They had mentioned seeing a woman stumbling towards the city but had thought of nothing of it and taking a different route back had avoided her. They could trace her as wandering from the west, slowly and awkwardly, she had looked too poor to bother with and they had taken sufficient coin anyway, and a bow. One had reluctantly added something about feeling watched that evening, like evil eyes from the darkness were on him; naturally Mercer had scorned this and dismissed him with a curse.

Frustrated, he had occupied himself at the Guild Master's desk with several notes, scrolls and books. There were the forgings from ledgers to update, the takings of coin to add, the value of treasure to work out and the potential loss they would take on it to sell it without suspicion. Times were tough in the guild, Delvin Mallory muttered that the daedra Nocturnal, their patron, had deserted or cursed them, whilst others complained that things were getting worse and debated about leaving. One, Maul, had though he had not gone far, becoming Maven's right-hand lackey. Mercer never remarked about it, or gave any credence to the murmurs of curses and ill luck, only scorning it when someone was stupid enough to directly ask him about it. He remembered once many years ago when things had been good for the Guild, truly good, when he had been young and naive, he scolded his youth and privately though that the current members of the guild were undeserving hypocrites most of them anyway. It was silly preaching about honour when you were wrongfully taking property from someone.

He halted in his writing when he felt a pair of eyes upon him, of course he had heard her approaching his desk, she was almost deafening compared to the others, too clumsy on her feet, out of balance too, probably trying to compensate for the loss of the weight of her cuffs. He glanced up at her pointedly, meeting her stare with his hostile grey one. "Don't you have better things to do than disturb me?" he questioned moodily.

The healer had looked at her back an hour ago, frowned and grumbled until Brynjolf had paid him enough coin to tend it with a paste and leave Etienne with some other ointments and potions to treat it with. Until then she had patiently and quietly watched Niruin and Cynric practise with their archery until they had grown bored with it, and departed for some stealing in Riften. After that she had eaten and drank some more before Brynjolf had given her some tips on fighting with a dagger, and a disapproving Sapphire had corrected some of his teachings and shown her examples of how to stab someone with two daggers, demonstrating on a dummy.

"What do you hope to gain from me?" she questioned bluntly. "Do you want a new thief? I don't think you do, so will you keep in case I'm worth something? It seems strange when you could surely just take what you want."

Mercer nodded at that with what might have been a small smile of pride; it was hard to tell as he banished it so swiftly. "Some things are harder to learn about than others," he admitted, "maybe your family has treasures no one in this Guild has even heard of, though I doubt it. Chances are you are just a common thief with no Guild ties, who I've just wasted time on, or you are a Stormcloak sympathiser or-"

"No," she interrupted sharply. The empire, the Imperials, she had been loyal to them, she felt it confidently until she thought about it, tried to remember, then the mist stole it away and left her only with doubt.

"No? An Imperial supporter then, so you do remember something, but in name or nature I wonder. Do you just support them or are you from Cyrodiil?" He knew she was not from Cyrodiil, her accent was Skyrim, even it was too generic to pinpoint, but her parents could be Imperials, it might explain her twang, it could be Skyrim tainted with Cyrodiil.

"I..." She clenched her fists in anger and refused to say those words again, it was so repetitive, on and on trying to remember, would she ever recall who she was? "I can't remember," she choked out at last, it wasn't 'I don't know' but it amounted to the same thing and the frustration continued to blaze through her.

"Maybe you're one, maybe the other, and maybe it doesn't matter because maybe you're worth nothing," Mercer snarled at her coldly.

"I must have been worth something to someone, otherwise why chain me?" she retorted, infuriating him with that ill-suited calmness that clung to her. How could she be so tranquil down here amongst criminals she knew nothing of? Had it been so bad before?

'She's right,' he thought angrily, 'and it's why I helped her, because she must have some worth but what and to whom? Even prisoners have worth, they equal what they stole, they are the valued prize the guards take instead when they can't have the robbed goods or lives returned. Maybe she killed someone, maybe she just took a loaf of bread and one stale crust is all she's worth, but perhaps it's more. Divines damn her I need to know!'

"I won't leave until I heal unless someone here wills it," she admitted softly, "even if it means staying down here all the time. I have nowhere to go and I doubt I could wander and find the same luck again. At least until my wounds repair I will stay if I can, and do what you ask and promise that if I remember something, even if it is terrible, I will tell you, since it is the only thanks I can give for the aid I have received."

Mercer frowned, unsure what to make of her words or decision. Would she remember anything if she stayed here? He suspected that in the end it would be a mistake but curiosity and perhaps greed too drove him to nod in agreement. "Stay until you're healed then, though you will have to be useful but you can't be one of us, not with your wounds for a start and not until I can trust you, which I can't until I learn who you are."

"Alright."

"Now, what are we calling you until you decide to remember your real name?" he questioned bitingly.

"Amaris."


	3. Chapter 3- Elusive Thoughts

Unsafe. It was a feeling that hugged at Amaris like a second skin, one which she had as far back as her short memory would stretch. Even here with the rough and ready thieves she was not safe, though she frustratingly could not tell why for certain she knew it was so. It had been two weeks since she had stumbled into Mercer and Brynjolf's path, in that time several more rumours had flooded in, more talk of dragons, the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, babblings about royal bastards, mad gods, dead gods and more mundane issues like Maven's rivalry with Honningbrew Meadery, the arrest of a drunken man, the theft of a statue of Dibella from Haelga's Bunkhouse, skooma dealings, and the arrival of several mages. Amaris heard bits and pieces of it, either directly from the thieves or in conversation they were having. Mercer heard it all and often ended up cursing the reporters out of his sight before cursing himself for ever asking anyone to listen for rumours.

The weather in Riften had not improved much, it was ice cold most nights and either lashing with rain or drizzling, the sky varied in shades of murky grey or engulfing black when nightfall came, and the wind bit at the skin and roared through the ears. Despite this business continued as usual for the varied collection of people that inhabited and wandered through the city. Riften was a hub of business, intrigue, coin and corruption, there was too much going on it for anyone to be concerned with the weather or the possible end of the world, something most people in Skyrim were still sneering about despite the return of dragons.

It was freezing down in the bowels of the sewers and wetter than usual, drips had turned to continuous leaks, puddles had grown larger and the pool of water in the Cistern had spilled over the edges. There was as yet no danger of flooding, just dampness for those without the proper footwear, and discomfort for someone unfortunate enough to get drizzled on. Amaris hugged her shirt closer as she sat unobtrusively in a corner trying to make sense of the battered book in her hands. Brynjolf had given it to her, not wanting her to get bored while Mercer decided what to do with her.

The Guild Master watched her carefully from his desk, as he had been doing for ten minutes now, glancing up between note scribbling. He had a page in front of him dictating potential treasures worthwhile seeking outside Riften. It was mostly rumour and speculation, at this point his two least favourite things, but greed and a desire for something different had him studying them anyway. He knew from his repeated staring that Amaris' reading was limited at best, and wondered if she forgotten how to do something that seemed so easy to him or if she had never been properly taught. His grey eyes focused on the book cover to see if it was perhaps in a foreign tongue or was simply a confusing read, Beggar Prince, it was not what Mercer would consider a riveting read and he doubted it was too puzzling for the woman. 'So she can't read well,' he thought to himself, 'and she's probably an Imperial, at least in terms of loyalty, what else?'

Amaris continued to sound out the words in her head as she looked over them slowly; well aware of the disapproving look she was receiving. She did not have any of the thieves' detection skills and yet her senses of hearing and sight were sharp, at least when she awake, she was usually aware of someone nearby, and watching her. Footsteps drew her attention to a newcomer, light on their feet like all the thieves, she could not guess who it was just from their steps. Mercer on the other hand knew without looking over that it was Sapphire.

Sapphire was having a surprisingly good day despite the weather and the usual ill-fortune of the Guild, she had managed to collect upon a debt with interest and pick pocketed her namesake from an unsuspecting mage. True the mage had noticed the theft almost immediately after and chased her through the streets with a couple of flames but she had lost him soon enough, in part thanks to the interference of grumpy guards who weren't in the mood for wild magic on top of everything else. So when she looked at the auburn haired woman with distain she felt compelled to help rather than hinder her. "You need new clothes." It was blunt and direct to the point.

Amaris, who had glanced up only once to see who was approaching her, looked up again with mild bewilderment. She was learning fast that being female did not automatically endear her to the fairer sex underground- Tonilia, Vex and Sapphire were every bit as tough and gritty as the men, perhaps even more so. Tonilia was hostile, Vex was a no nonsense woman, which Amaris could respect, and Sapphire was evasive at best, doing most of her conversing with Brynjolf, and arguing with Vipir the Fleet. "I've no money and no skills to steal any," Amaris remarked quietly, loathing herself for sounding so pathetic. She knew the gifted threadbare garments were not much good for the underground climate and could not last long but they were all she had, and so long as Mercer kept her in the sewers and forbid her membership, there was not much she could do about it.

Sapphire made a 'humph' sound and placed her hands on her slender hips as she stared down at the woman, unsure whether to pity her, be disgusted by her or to simply go back to indifference. 'Well it's not her fault the boss can't decide if she's a hostage, member, ally or something else,' the dark haired woman thought to herself. 'Don't think he has a fetish for redheads though.' She turned to the Guild Master with a questioning brown gaze, would he finally let the woman up to Riften if she was accompanied? Did he really have any right or reason to keep her here? 'Is he even keeping her here?' Sapphire pondered. 'Seems she is more of a hassle to him, I bet she just doesn't have anywhere else to go and he's too proud to kick her out since he brought her down here in the first place. Well, guest or not, she can't sit about in clothes like that, even in these miserable times we can do better for her.'

"Look, you can come up with me," Sapphire offered, "and get some new clothes; there are stalls and stores we can buy them from. I'll front you the coin for now, just don't decide to get fancy and pick some expensive silk dresses that aren't going to do you much good down here."

Amaris' mismatched eyes immediately went to Mercer wondering if he would allow her to go, even accompanied by a thief. He was so suspicious about her, so afraid she would run or cause trouble; did he not understand yet that she had nowhere else to go and even if she did not feel entirely safe down here, it was better than risking somewhere worse?

Mercer met her stare with a cold gaze, he could hear a little of their conversation and had gathered the just of it. He knew Sapphire had a point; the woman did need new clothes but what if she were to run to the guards or seek sanctuary in the temple? He supposed she did not act like a woman who thought herself a prisoner, no those days seemed to be past for her, but what if she was playing impassive out of fear or a misunderstanding? He had not once been clear about his intentions towards her, even the Guild members could not tell for certain if she was guest or hostage, and he wondered if she had her doubts over it. 'Well now's as good a time as any to clarify things,' he thought to himself gruffly, 'and take a chance. If she doesn't come back, good riddance, she probably is just a common, ill-bred thief, and if Sapphire does bring her back well at least she will have better clothes.' He stood up from his desk slowly and looked to Sapphire waiting for her to ask permission. He couldn't walk over there and offer it, letting her think they were suddenly equals. Besides, it sounded like she was ready to go against him and just take the woman, well now was her chance to remember who the boss was.

Sapphire interpreted Mercer's warning glower quickly and headed over to him at a leisurely walk. "Mercer," she addressed him calmly, "let me take the woman to the city for some clothes, it's an embarrassment having her sitting in rags, even if she's not a Guild member it still doesn't reflect well on us, or our hospitality." She looked at him carefully, try to spy a reaction to her words in his face but he kept his thoughts covered with a veil of derision.

He folded his arms and gave a careless grunt. "Go ahead," he retorted dismissively, "just see that she doesn't cost too much."

"I will," Sapphire retorted with a nod.

Amaris perked up slightly, surprised that he was willing to let her out of the Guild at last. She supposed that maybe he would have done it sooner had she only asked but truthfully, she had no desire to go up there, especially not when Cynric grumbled about the deadly weather almost on a daily basis. There was a dull curiosity about Riften itself but also a fear, what if whatever she had fled from was up there? What if she had been followed here? Would she be thrown back in chains and beaten? Dragged off to a dungeon or killed? She suppressed a tremble as she sat the book down carefully on the bed she had been sitting on, with one page curled over slightly to mark her place. Feeling Sapphire's cool gaze, she stood up, smoothed out her trousers feebly and then looked up to the taller Nord.

"Let's go then," Sapphire commanded before turning and walking off, her leather boots stepping into the small puddles smoothly with the softest of splashes.

"Now wait a minute," Mercer growled as Amaris started to follow.

Sapphire sighed, halted and rolled her eyes without looking back to the Guild Master. 'Time for an objection,' she thought sardonically, 'is he being a paranoid old bastard or a possessive one?'

"It's pouring up there," he snarled at them, "you will be soaked before you take two steps and I'm not having anymore coin wasted on healers when you come back sick from it."

Sapphire whirled to face him at last, placing her hands on her hips once more and daring to give him a contemptuous look. She had a long, black, leather coat over her garments, it was heavy enough to hinder her movements a little but sufficient for the rain, and easily flung off if she had to run. "I don't have any coats to spare," she snapped at the older man.

"Well find one," he retorted heatedly.

Sapphire sighed again as she uttered several curses internally, one of which included asking any one of the Daedra to come and roast Mercer's guts. "This way then," Sapphire addressed Amaris curtly, already regretting her kindness, "I'm sure we can borrow one from somewhere." The pale skinned Nord knew that Etienne and Vipir were the worst offenders for leaving their trunks with feeble locks and that Cynric had a rather good collection of hoods, cloaks and coats. Three years in High Rock had made the thief appreciate the luxuries in life.

Twenty minutes later found the women in Riften's busy streets beneath a light mist of rain browsing the stalls. Amaris was now appropriately clothed in one of Cynric's hooded tops, it was made of a soft, warm material and was a deep blue in colour, stained with a brown patch at the front and in need of some stitching at the lower back but otherwise in decent condition. Amaris felt guilty for taking it but reasoned with herself that he was likely to be the most understanding of the thieves over the borrowing, bar Brynjolf and Delvin, who did not place much value on clothes.

Sapphire, more into jewels than fashion, was quick and practical in choosing a new attire for the woman, who she learned called herself Amaris. The coppery brunette had little opinion over what to choose, sharing Sapphire's belief that so long as it was functional it was good. She eyed linen and leather garments alike, her unusual eyes never once flickering to the finer garments hanging up in shop windows, too expensive to be risked sitting on stalls. After some haggling and threatening they were able to purchase two new shirts, two pairs of trousers, a belt, boots and finally a hooded cloak for Amaris.

The rain turned to a heavier drizzle as Amaris stood by Sapphire holding her garments wrapped in paper packages and bundled into two bags. The Nord was eyeing jewels at Madesi's stand contemplating if there was anything worth looting.

"You!" The two women turned at the angry shout and Sapphire cocked a dark eyebrow as she saw a familiar mage charging towards them, pointing at them angrily. Sensing several guards' suspicious eyes upon her, she grabbed Amaris by one arm and started to pull her along.

"Time to go," the pale skinned woman snapped, "start running."

"Wait!" the mage, a male, yelled.

Amaris had time to glimpse a golden skinned Imperial with short dark hair and dark gold coloured robes before Sapphire pulled her away. Instinct kicked in and she started to run across the damp ground, struggling to keep up with Sapphire's pace. The Nord released the woman, trusting her to follow and sprinted on ahead, little concerned by the fact that Amaris' burdens might slow her down.

"Stop!"

She skidded through a puddle, sucked in a tight breath and continued to run. The wind was picking up again, keeping her blue hood down and instantly reddening her cheeks. Sapphire was a dark blur in the rain now, and it was a struggle to keep her in view. She saw the Nord sprint towards the wooden steps that led down the docks and followed hastily. She slipped and gave a gasp of surprise as she struggled to balance her bags and reach out for the railing. She banged against it uncomfortably before righting herself and continuing down at a slower pace. Salty water stung her eyes as the wind roused it up to greet her. She winced, blinked hard and turned about in confusion, Sapphire was gone and there were many wooden paths to follow but which was right?

"Just wait!"

The mage was behind her at the top of the steps; it was a wonder he hadn't thought to use an attack. Worse, she could hear the clattering of guards' armour as they arrived to investigate. She wondered if she should be afraid of the guards, was she a criminal, and if she was did they know it? She had not joined the thieves and had committed no crime since arriving here and she could not be infamous or Mercer and the others would know who she was and yet there was enough doubt lingering in her mind to push her on. She took a chance, running down one slippery path, half-shutting her eyes and bowing her head to avoid the worst of the rain and wind. She was cold and thoroughly soaked now, her toes were turning numb, her back was throbbing where the wound was and she could feel her right wrist beginning to bleed anew.

Keep going. Fleeing through a storm, the rain was probably the only thing keeping her pursuers at bay. She bit her lip without realising, trying to silence the flashbacks and gather her bearings. This was horribly familiar; yes she had fled her captors, but how and from where? She swallowed hard before running across a path on her right, muting a squeal when the sea splashed over her torn shoes. She saw Sapphire at last, standing by a door and glaring at her impatiently. She quickened her pace, almost slipping again, and reached her at last. Sapphire said nothing, she just pushed open the door and darted into darkness. Amaris followed without hesitation.

"Stay close and keep quiet," Sapphire growled as they arrived in one of the many underground sewer tunnels of stone, water and filth, "there are bandits, madmen, skeevers and other things down here."

There were rattles and hisses as they walked. Around one corner they heard claws scratching on the ground, round another there was the sound of squeaking but they saw nothing. The rooms were poorly lit; some held barrels and crates, and others an abandoned bed or broken lantern. They descended down stone steps, Sapphire scowling as Amaris' footsteps echoed a little too loudly for her liking, and then turned right as chains rattled from further down. Amaris tensed at the sound, she remembered chains quivering in the darkness and the whisperers, always praying and pleading for them to stay away, out of sight and out of mind but they never did for long. They were always lurking in the shadows; their skin was cold to the touch and sometimes clammy. Her eyes went wide as footsteps sounded from behind them, perhaps a corridor away, maybe further, and something pattered along the ground through an open doorway to the left.

Her throat had gone dry, the roof of her mouth tasted of dust and salt and she was starting to shake from the cold. 'Keep going,' she told herself, 'just follow Sapphire and don't think about it.' A prisoner, a victim, a criminal, had she been all these things or just one? She was meant to be safe, no hidden, forgotten, abandoned. Why hadn't they killed her? There was an angry screech from ahead, she could only watch, waiting for the beast in the darkness to attack. It was a large, snarling and snapping rodent, quickly dispatched by Sapphire's sword sinking into its neck.

The Nord pulled the bloodied blade out with a grunt of disgust. "Skeevers," she grumbled, "let's hurry before more of them come, they're such irritable pests." She quickened the pace and Amaris matched her, her pains forgotten in her terror. Her heart was pounding, and there she thought the fear gone with everything else.

The sounds seemed to echo from all directions now, indistinct mumbles, footsteps, something wooden falling, something shattering, a laugh, a curse, and that horrible sound of bestial whispering. It was the latter that had her heart beating with all the energy of a bird caged against its will and turned her skin far colder than the elements could.

"Here it is," Sapphire commented calmly as they reached a heavy, wooden door. She took out a lockpick from her right pocket and slipped it into the lock with ease. It took her a couple of minutes and a few jolts of the lock before it clicked open and granted them entry into The Ragged Flagon.

Vekel the Man, bartender of the sorry looking Ragged Flagon, glanced up from his sweeping at them. "You look wet," he commented dryly.

"Save it," Sapphire snapped back, "and get me a drink."

"What happened?" Tonilia, who was lingering by the bar, queried curiously.

"A mage," Sapphire retorted heatedly, "the same damn mage I stole a sapphire off this morning, it must have been something special for him to chase me over it twice!"

Tonilia gave a chuckle whilst Vekel set the broom against a wall and remarked, "I hear even the simple jobs are becoming difficult."

"It wasn't difficult," Sapphire interrupted as she turned a fierce brown stare on him, "just tiring."

Tonilia folded her arms and leaned back against the wooden bar stand. "Come by anything interesting?" she queried casually.

Sapphire shook her head. "Not a thing." She turned a cool stare on Amaris. "Our business is done for now though I'll be expecting coin soon enough," she grumbled, her good mood soured by the return of the mage.

Amaris nodded, accepting that she was dismissed, her head was beginning to ache anyway and now that the adrenaline caused by fear had vanished, her wounds were plaguing her once more. She turned from the slightly hostile group, trudging her way over to the wooden door she hoped led to the Cistern. To her relief she found herself back in the interior of the Thieves' Guild. She moved close to the walls until she made it to the open room of beds. Her book was sitting on her borrowed bed waiting for her, only she now noticed a red, leather bookmark sticking out of it, someone had been at it. Curious, she sat down her bags, pushing them under the bed as she had no key or lockpick for the chest sitting in front of the bed, and opened the book. After reading over the words five times she realised it was where she had folded over a corner of a page to mark her place.

Tired, sore and tormented by a worsening headache, she kicked off her shoes, opened Etienne's satchel, pulled out a bandage, clumsily wrapped it over the one on her bleeding wrist, and lay down beneath the thin, brown blanket to sleep.

The pain in her back awoke her a couple of hours later, she rolled over with a wince as her bleary eyes opened and she became aware that she was tangled up in not one but two blankets. She sat up, pushed her mane of mahogany hair back and looked at the new blanket as she pulled her arms free from it. It was slightly thicker than the brown, a faded crimson in colour and relatively clean. She pushed it down as Vipir the Fleet walked past and remarked calmly to the white haired Vex, "there's a male mage wandering about The Ratway."

"And?" Vex queried coolly. "He's probably looking for supplies unique to the sewers or doing some dark arts in secrecy."

"I had trouble with mages once, three of them, I was hired to steal one of their spell books, one's fire creature caught me the act, I fought back naturally but it was a struggle. Of course with some quick thinking-"

"Yeah I get the idea," Vex interrupted frostily.

"Well I heard from Vekel that the mage is after Sapphire," Vipir remarked haughtily.

"So what?" Vex retorted with an obvious disinterest. "If he finds her I'm sure she can handle it and if not, Dirge will be sure to show him a quick and wet way out."

"Well given all the problems this place has a mage won't help, and I doubt Mercer will be impressed that Sapphire led someone down here," Vipir answered moodily, annoyed that his news was not as interesting to Vex as it was to him.

"You're right he won't be," the named Guild Master growled out as he appeared from behind Vipir. Amaris had watched him approach, quiet on foot and blending into the shadows easily, it had been almost mesmerising watching how easily he sneaked up on someone without even trying.

Vipir just managed to contain his jolt of surprise before turning to face his superior with a nervous laugh. "Well he's in The Ratway," he murmured, "and it's just a rumour anyway."

"Really?" Mercer queried dryly. "Does he have a name or was Sapphire unacquainted with him until she robbed him?"

"Marcurio," Amaris answered quietly.

Three pairs of eyes immediately looked her way, Vipir was astonished to see her there, he had not even noticed her and still did not know her name, to the Nord she was just some strange fancy of Mercer's or Brynjolf's that he did not care to learn anything about.

"Did you say something?" Vex snapped icily, angry that the woman had been eavesdropping.

"What did you say?" Mercer demanded with a penetrating stare of ice.

Amaris was just as shocked to hear her voice as they were. What had she said? "Marcurio," she repeated, so certain that that was the mage's name though she had no idea how she could know that.

Vex folded her arms and gave a tight smile. "Well, well you know someone," she commented sardonically, "and they're in Riften."

"Find the mage," Mercer gave the order swiftly.

"What?" Vex exclaimed in outrage as she turned a furious, yellow glower on the man. "First her, now him, are we stealing people?"

"I'm sorry," Mercer answered in a voice saturated in cynicism, "I was under the impression I was in charge."

"We'll look for him now," Vipir spoke up quickly before Vex could consider arguing again. He nudged the raging, pale haired woman and the pair departed for The Ratway.

"It can't be a coincidence that the first person you decide to remember is now in our domain," Mercer snarled at Amaris. She was a spy! 'Traitorous vixen,' he thought hatefully, 'well she'll regret it when she and her friend are at my mercy!'

Amaris shrank back from Mercer's fearsome gaze, startled and confused, she did not know the mage and even as she thought of him now there was nothing but a name. Until today the golden robed magic user had not existed to her. "He was chasing Sapphire!" she protested. She could see the anger beginning to smoulder in the old man's gaze, and guessed at what he was thinking. "She stole from him," she added, "this morning, then he found her in the marketplace when I went with her. That's all I know about him!"

"You know his name," Mercer was careful to sound out each word slowly and carefully so that the impact of what Amaris had confessed was not lost on her. 'Of course why confess that now and betray herself?' he wondered. 'Unless she's giving him up to save herself, or some other scheme.'

"I..." She bowed her head in frustration and gripped the blanket tightly with both hands. "I think that's his name but I don't know how or why I should know it, there's nothing else about him I can recall. Believe me or don't but that's the truth, if I knew someone in Riften then why...why did you find me wandering about in chains? Would I not have gone to someone I knew?"

"Unless you were running from them," Mercer suggested. She sounded sincere but he wondered if that was simply part of her act. 'Was it all a clever ruse?' he dared to ponder. 'An elaborate trick to gain access...no, she had no way of knowing who would find her, or that thieves would aid her and her wounds were very real. Was the mage her captor then?'

She shook her head as she considered the possibility that, that was why Marcurio's name came to her so easily. "I don't remember," she said bitterly.

"Let's hope his memory is better than yours," Mercer retorted bitingly.


	4. Chapter 4- Memories and Mages

"I warn you my skill in battle is unmatched, I am not a mere mage but a master of the arcane arts!" a male's irate voice sounded from behind a wooden door.

Vex opened the door with a scowl, entering the cistern with the grumpy eyed mage behind her and Vipir behind him. "We get it," Vipir grumbled, "you can wield magic, that's great. Look, you came here willingly."

"Yes but now that I'm here I don't want any misunderstandings to arise," the mage retorted warningly.

Mercer scowled over at them, wondering if the mage was as powerful as he claimed and suspecting that he was simply just cocky. 'Well a fireball burns whether it's a small one or a large one,' he cautioned himself as he folded his arms and waited for the three to come closer.

Vex gave Mercer a look of exasperation before halting and stepping to one side granting the mage a view of Mercer and Amaris who was now standing by the Guild Master's side. The mage halted and stared at the chestnut redhead with open mouthed surprise. "It is you," he marvelled, "after all this time, but what are you doing here? And by Oblivion where have you been?" he queried sharply.

Amaris blinked back at him in confusion, she had been expecting, even hoping for a jolt of recognition upon seeing him but there was nothing, just his name and a sense that he was not an enemy. "Who...who am I to you?" she queried carefully.

"What?" He gave a dry laugh. "You're the one who vanished for six years, you tell me," he answered sardonically.

"Six years?" she echoed in shock. "From where? Why?"

The mage frowned slightly, his brown eyes immediately sparkling with annoyance. "Come on now, after all this time the best you can manage is some sort of game?"

"I don't know you," she answered as she studied him. Tall, tanned like the natives of Cyrodiil usually were with a crop of bound back black hair and a black goatee starting to form just under his chin, he was relatively good looking with a rounded face, long nose and smug, dark brown eyes. She felt he was someone she should remember and yet asides from knowing that he had not been her captor, she could recall nothing.

His frown deepened and he glanced about the damp Cistern and at the thieves. "It's been six years not sixty," he grumbled, "and I am not that forgettable. Is this a joke?" He turned a glower on the now bored Vex before flickering his gaze back to Amaris. "Or are you afraid to admit the truth with these thieves around?"

Mercer and Vipir both gave noticeable grunts of displeasure as the mage emphasised their profession with an obvious disgust. "What's your name mage?" Mercer demanded. "And what are you doing down here?"

"I am the master of magic Marcurio," he answered boastfully, "and I was looking for her." He pointed at Amaris with a look of aggravation. "Although don't think it escaped my attention that she was in the company of the thief who robbed me of a sapphire this morning," he added boldly. "Still this is Riften, I expect as much and I'm not stupid enough to pursue a thief right into the guild for the sake of a stone."

"But you are stupid enough to pursue a woman into the guild," Vipir pointed out with a grin.

Marcurio bristled slightly but said nothing though his heavy set scowl and angry stare was obvious.

"And what is her name?" Mercer demanded of Marcurio as he gestured to Amaris with one hand.

Marcurio rolled his eyes. "Is she your prisoner, is that it?" Marcurio demanded. He looked at Amaris and raised both his hands slightly. "Is this what you were running from?"

"Lower your hands mage," Mercer growled warningly, "we don't kidnap people."

"Then why won't you tell me anything?" Marcurio demanded of Amaris with a suspicious stare.

"Because I don't remember," Amaris confessed quietly, "I don't know my name, where I'm from, my age, I remember nothing past a couple of weeks ago when I showed up here. I can't even say where I came from to get here."

Marcurio's deep eyes widened slightly and for a moment he was silent as he digested this information. "Really?" he queried. "Then is that why you've been gone for so long? Were you just wandering about with no memory? But no, it's been six years; you don't remember anything past two weeks ago?" Amaris nodded swiftly at this. "Then..." Marcurio lowered his hands by his sides and sighed. "Well I wasn't expecting this," he confessed.

"Do you know who I am?" Amaris asked pleadingly. "Or where I'm from? Can you tell me anything?"

Marcurio glanced about once more, throwing Mercer, Vex and Vipir obvious looks of mistrust before shaking his head. "Maybe you should tell me what's going on here first," he suggested carefully.

Amaris turned her gaze on the stern Guild Master and asked, "can we sit?"

"Good idea," Vipir chirped up, too interested to leave.

Mercer's scowl intensified though he nodded and slackened his folded arms. "This way," he grumbled. He walked slowly, as if afraid that they would not follow, leading them to the opposite side of where they stood and into a small alcove where three battered, wooden chairs sat. He ignored them, preferring to stand just outside the alcove, glowering pointedly at Vipir. The Nord took the hint and slinked off as Vex already had, heading instead towards The Ragged Flagon.

Amaris occupied one of the seats and Marcurio, after looking at them with mild disgust, occupied one to her right, clasping his palms together and resting them in his lap as his wary stare flickered from the woman to the Guild Master. Before either of them could talk one of the wooden doors swung open and Brynjolf's soft footsteps were heard upon the stone. He did not bother with stealth as there was no need and he knew that there was no chance of sneaking up on Mercer anyway.

The redheaded Nord spotted them and headed over as Mercer wondered if his arrival was coincidence or if someone had blabbed about the mage. 'Hardly matters,' he thought to himself, 'it just means two of us are squandering time.'

"Alright lass," Brynjolf greeted Amaris amicably before turning his friendly brown stare on Marcurio. "I'm Brynjolf," he introduced, "and you are?"

"The powerful mage Marcurio," came the arrogant answer as Marcurio made a point of meeting Brynjolf's stare with his own unflinching one. 'Are these thieves her friends?' the dark haired Imperial pondered doubtfully. 'She certainly has changed, well of course she has, it's been years, but falling into such questionable company. Here in Riften too, right under my own nose.'

Brynjolf looked from the mage to Amaris, wondering how the two were connected. He had heard about the mage wandering about The Ratway looking for Sapphire from Tonilia and though he was aware that Amaris had been with Sapphire when the mage had begun his pursuit, he could not understand why the pair were now sitting beside each other with Mercer.

Marcurio, deciding that the redheaded Nord was not a threat for now, returned his attention on Amaris. "Your hair's longer but then so is mine," he mused, "it was short when we met and I had no beard, and you had tighter curls and less freckles."

Amaris shook her head helplessly as she tried to picture Marcurio as he had described and failed. "I came here two weeks ago," she explained, "one night in a storm, and Mercer and Brynjolf found me," she added with a nod to the pair. She deliberately left out the state she had arrived in, cautious as to just how Marcurio knew her. Just because he did not seem like an enemy did not mean that he was not or could not become one. "Before that everything is a blank."

Marcurio raised the points of his finger to his chin in a moment of reflection before speaking. "We met eight years ago," he confessed, "still teenagers, not yet in our twenties; at least I don't think you were, I was eighteen. You didn't say much about yourself, we were in the wilderness of Skyrim when we met, two travellers, it was near some Nordic ruins but I can't recall where. You didn't have a great deal on you; I remember that much, no weapons, and very little coin, if I hadn't thought you would go blundering to your death I would have turned you away. As it was, neither of us was going in any particular direction so we teamed up." He paused, realising he was being vague, though it had been so long since they had first met, some details were hard to recall.

"You were eager to learn about the spells I knew, you know I always felt my magic was the reason why you insisted on accompanying me," Marcurio paused again to see if there was any recognition in Amaris' face but he saw none, "it was like you felt I could protect you from something."

"You said I was running from something," Amaris reminded him patiently, "did I tell you what?"

Marcurio shook his head. "No, and you never admitted that you were, it was just a suspicion I had. You never wanted to linger anywhere for long and even though I told you that Nordic history was a big interest of mine you wouldn't go down into any ruins. I had planned to just leave you at the nearest town but you were good company even if you didn't have any coin and you were eager to travel, so it meant we got to see a lot of interesting things and have some fun fights."

"Did I tell you anything about myself?" Amaris asked in exasperation, angry that what seemed like a chance to have her memory restored was really nothing but a dead end.

Marcurio shook his head firmly. "No, you lied about your name, came up with one on the spot, Daisy or Rose or some such nonsense." He grinned at her and added, "it was silly so I called you Foxhair. Truthfully, I never asked too many questions, that was how it was between us, we just got on with the present, and for two years we were good companions." He looked at her meaningfully then, holding her mismatched gaze, it was the eyes that had given her away, he had never seen anyone with eyes like hers. "Then one night we stayed at an inn somewhere in the wilds and...I don't know, I think there was someone there you knew, but you wouldn't talk about it. You sneaked off in the night, I thought you were going to speak to them so I let you go," his gaze softened slightly, "maybe I shouldn't have because I never saw you after that. I looked of course and asked questions but no one would tell me anything, not even for coin but they knew, and I knew that they knew. I made threats to the inn keeper and got kicked out by visiting guards for my trouble. Whatever happened, someone made sure no one was talking about it."

"What did they look like?" Amaris questioned with a hint of desperation to her voice. "This person you think I knew."

Marcurio shrugged. "There was a group, men, women, young and old, some in armour, some in average clothes, middle-class I think, travellers like us and soldiers, but which of them you knew, I couldn't say."

Amaris bowed her head in despair; nothing had come to her at Marcurio's words, no recollection of their first meeting or their two years together. 'Two years just wiped out!' she thought in horror. 'And the way he looked at me, were we just friends?' she wondered with unease. 'How could I forget something like that?'

Brynjolf and Mercer had both watched the woman carefully for her reaction to the mage's words, as well as listening to his confusing tale. Whilst the redhead was filled with pity, the greying Guild Master only had scorn; the damn mage had been almost as vague as the woman! He could tell them no more about her than she could! Spirited away in the night from some unknown inn, Skyrim was huge, that could have been anywhere!

'Probably taken by bandits,' Mercer thought darkly, 'like Sapphire, kept their prisoner only she didn't escape as quickly. That's most likely it, but for six years, would they have kept her that long? And if there were guards in the inn, no that's not it, soldiers wouldn't let that happen in such a public place, and they couldn't have been bribed to look the other way, not with patrons to witness, so what then? Was it the soldiers she knew? Is she a criminal? But then they let her go to bed, they didn't jump her, she went to them, hardly the actions of a fugitive.' He scowled and gritted his teeth, no explanation made sense! 'It was someone she knew alright,' he decided, 'either someone who scared her enough to go with them quietly without endangering anyone else, someone who was stronger than the mage, which probably wouldn't be difficult, or it was someone she was on good terms with, maybe a friend or family member who knew something about her.'

Amaris wondered the same things as Mercer, going through every explanation she could come up with but they all seemed to have a flaw and none jolted anything in her mind.

'The mage thinks she was running from something or someone that kept her travelling constantly for two years,' Mercer continued to analyse everything they had learned. 'Something or someone that she needed someone with magic to protect her from, doesn't exactly narrow it down, except to say that it seems whatever she was fleeing from presumably caught her but didn't want to kill her, and that she has since escaped them. So what importance does she hold then and to who or what? Is she royalty? Nobility? Rich? Wouldn't there be news of someone like that missing? Unless of course they don't want it public, maybe it's a political plot, or her family have been threatened with her death if it becomes gossip, or maybe she's some bastard offspring no one wants to be discovered. Have to keep her alive just in case, royal blood's always useful after all, but she's still a threat.' He shook his head. 'It's possible but fanciful. I shouldn't waste any more time on this, there are other things to focus on, real treasures with a known value, powerful weapons, rare necklaces, and magical garments.'

"There was something else," Marcurio remarked, "just a second." He hunted in the folds of his mustard coloured robes before producing a small, dented piece of gold with a brown string looped through it. He pressed it into her left hand with both of his, eyeing her bandage disapprovingly. 'That looks recent,' he thought as he looked to Brynjolf and then Mercer with renewed suspicion. "You gave it to me the night you disappeared," the Imperial explained, "you said it was for luck." He frowned slightly. "Maybe giving it to me is why you lost your luck."

She turned the object over in her hands, there was a rune carved into one side of it, slightly worn, it was like an hourglass on its side formed out of two small vertical lines and two longer slanted lines criss-crossing over each other. "What does it mean?" she wondered aloud. She held the coin out and both Mercer and Brynjolf leaned forward to look at it, both were well-versed in symbols given their Guild used plenty of them on walls, doors and stalls as code.

"It's Nord for luck," Brynjolf answered.

"I knew that," Marcurio said irately, annoyed to have been beaten to the answer, "as I said, you said it was for luck. I don't know where you got it from though or why you gave it to me."

"Silly superstitious thing," Mercer scorned.

Amaris turned the object over in her hands and found a wolf's head looking back. "And this?" she questioned as she held the gold up to them.

"The symbol for Solitude," Marcurio answered swiftly, determined to be the informative one, "but you never once mentioned anything about it."

"Could I be from there?" she wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Marcurio responded, annoyed at his uselessness on that topic. If there was one thing the Imperial wizard hated it was it being made obvious that he did not know about something.

'Well she seems to be loyal to the Imperials, and Solitude is certainly full of those, especially now that the High King has been murdered,' Mercer thought, 'so maybe she is from there.'

She slipped the rope over her neck and tucked the coin against her chest underneath Cyrnic's hooded top and her tattered shirt; it was warm against her skin and oddly pleasant, as if it was exactly where it was supposed to be.

"Look, I've said all I can," Marcurio said, "and it's kind of damp and dark down here and I'm hungry. I'm sorry about what's happened to you, truly, and if you would like to talk about it in more pleasant quarters that would be fine."

Amaris studied him hard again, trying to force herself to remember him, there was a glimmer of something, his warm, powerful and destructive magic, yes she had wanted that, but there was something more to it. 'He could always find his way,' she realised in surprise, 'and I wanted that, to never be lost but not...not when we were together, after...' She clutched her head with both hands as a pang shot through it, this was exhausting and frustrating. 'I didn't want to be lost again; I still don't, to be trapped in a maze of darkness...' She shuddered uncomfortably. 'I just wanted a way out but Marcurio never came to show me it.'

"It's a lot to take in lass," Brynjolf sympathised, "maybe you should have a drink or something to eat and give yourself time for things to sink in. Don't push yourself," he advised, "it will come to you eventually."

Mercer stiffened at the suggestion, he had trusted her not to flee and she hadn't, but bringing a mage down to the Guild wasn't much better, alright Sapphire had been involved in that too but it was Amaris the mage had been looking for. If she went up again, this time with the said mage, would she come back? Was he really her ally or was it all lies? Hard to say when she could recall nothing.

Amaris was thinking along similar lines as she lowered her hands and met Marcurio's gaze. 'Better the daedra you know,' she thought sardonically. 'I knew him once but I don't now and currently I know the thieves better, even if it's only by two weeks.' "I would rather stay here," she admitted, "unless there's something else."

The hope in her eyes made the mage fill with a surge of pity and guilt. "No," he confessed, "we did grow close I suppose but not enough to share our histories, that just wasn't us. You and I lived for the moment, I enjoyed the thrill of exploring and you, well I don't know, perhaps it was just a need to keep your distance from something. Look, I live in Riften," he said a little more brightly, "and I'll be here for a while so seek me out whenever you'd like, I'm usually at The Bee and the Barb, maybe seeing me might jog your memory."

"Maybe," she said calmly though she doubted it.

'She's becoming like Rune,' Brynjolf thought dryly, 'a rune mark is her only clue to her identity, well at least maybe she can narrow it down to Solitude, and we know it means luck, no one can decipher his.'

Marcurio stood up, brushing invisible stains off his robes as he did. "Well goodbye Foxhair," he said teasingly, "and it's good to see you're... alive," he finished awkwardly. Safe or well were hardly the right choice of words, how could one be safe with thieves and the few wounds and scars he had glimpsed implied she certainly wasn't well.

"Thanks," she answered sincerely, "and thank you for coming after me and telling me what you know, it's something at least."

He nodded. "Well you were a good friend once," he assured. 'And more,' he added privately. 'I was your first I think but it's hardly the time or place to discuss that, and is it something you want to remember? I truly don't know, did I ever really know anything about you?'

"I'll lead you out," Brynjolf offered, knowing full well that Mercer wasn't about to do it.

Marcurio looked to him with fresh caution before nodding curtly and following him. When the pair were out of sight Mercer turned on Amaris with a look of displeasure. "After all that you remember nothing?" he snapped at her. "And he knows nothing?" he sneered in a taunting disbelief.

"I wish I did," she said with an angry edge to her voice, "one person who knows me, who might be able to tell me something, ah it's like I'm cursed. Or maybe there's nothing to me, no history, no home, no family, and I was running from nothing but loneliness."

Mercer shook his head though he considered that she might be right. 'If that's the case I really have wasted my time,' he thought moodily, 'but I don't think so, if that were true then who did she meet at the inn and where did she go that night? No, there's more to her, she is worth something but what?' "Well remember our agreement," he growled at her, "you tell me what you remember." She nodded and he stormed off, returning to business that might actually prove profitable for him.

For the remainder of the day Amaris struggled to read her book, observed Niruin and Cyrnic at archery and learned how to string a bow and fletch an arrow. She tried to think of Marcurio and his words but all she caught were blurred images, it was as if her past was hidden just out of reach behind some veil she could not tear down. Weary with her back feeling like it was on fire and her head pounding, she returned to rest once more when the evening came, though she had no way of knowing that the sun had gone down.

_Long, disfigured limbs creeping out of the darkness, stretching towards her. She turned away from them and choked out in a whimper, "no please." Her voice was hoarse, cracking as she felt her eyes burn as they tried to cry and failed, her tears were all spent. The fingers were long and probing, the hissing came from all around, and even with her eyes tightly closed she could not shut them out._

_Burning red eyes in the darkness, her limbs between pulled and yanked, her body bare and whipped, and worse. It never ended, down here there was no night nor day, only periods of quiet, rare moments of those cold, unforgiving eyes and then the red burning orbs in the blackness. She had been forgotten, left to suffer but not to die, why couldn't she die?_

Her screams echoed throughout the entire Cistern, bouncing off the walls, rousing Etienne from a deep sleep, causing Vipir to jump with a yelp in his bed, Sapphire to drop her mug at the bar with a curse, Thrynn to pause in his cooking to stare about in confusion, Dirge to utter some colourful curses, and Cynric to clench his bow as he almost dropped it and looked over in surprise. Seeing her bolt upright, the archer sat the bow by the wall and sprinted over.

She jumped and continued to scream when he grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her to rouse her from her dream. Her eyes were open now, the pupils dilated and the lids as wide as they could go. The former jail breaker saw that her skin had paled and was beady with droplets of sweat and her nostrils seemed to snort loudly like a panicked horse's. "There now," he said with a teasing smile, "it was just a nightmare, don't get them often myself mind, but that's all it was."

"No," she babbled, "no, no, I want out of here! It's too dark! It's too dark!"

"You really are scared aren't you?" the Breton remarked in surprise seeing how she quivered in his grasp and tried to pull from him. He had no doubt that if he released her she would run aimlessly through the Guild in her fright. "What happened?"

"It's too dark in here; they hide in the dark, in the shadows, always! Hissing! They're down here!"

He shook his head in confusion and murmured as soothingly as he could manage, "there's nothing down here for you to be afraid of."

"What is all the noise?" Vex grumbled as she entered the room with a glower. She halted frowning at Cynric's helpless grin and the woman howling in his arms. "What did you do to her?" she queried wearily with a bland stare.

"Nothing!" Cynric protested angrily. "What do you take me for?" He pulled back from the woman in an attempt to prove that he was not harming her and that was his mistake. Amaris, full only of fear and a desperation for light and safety, seized her chance and bolted from the bed. Cynric cursed as she ran and stood up to go after her when he saw someone else move towards her.

Mercer seized her arms tightly and shook her far harder than Cynric had. "What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" he yelled at her loudly causing spittle to strike her cheeks.

She whimpered and hated herself for it as she realised he would think it was him she was whimpering at. "I want out of here," she stammered wildly, "out of the dark now, please."

"Why?" he questioned sharply.

"Because there are things down here," she choked out, "horrible, cold, twisted things and they'll get me, in the shadows, all they need is the dark." Even as she tried to describe the things the memory of them faded, they had never really been clear in her sight, just a real threat obscured by the choking blackness.

Cynric sighed and shook his head. "It was just a nightmare," he grumbled.

"What are they?" Mercer asked, realising from Cyrnic's position that she must have been in her bed, presumably suffering a nightmare.

"I don't know," she confessed, "and I don't want to, I don't want to see them again." She shuddered. "Or feel them, they hurt, they burn and beat and..." She swallowed down a sob. "Please," she begged again, "it's too dark down here."

"You've been here for two weeks," Mercer reminded her sharply, "and the darkness has never bothered you. The worst thing down here is me, now you've had a nightmare and disturbed us all with it, be quiet and come to your senses."

She shook her head and tried to pull from his grip but it was like iron. "I..." It was already waning, whatever they were, their appearance, it was slipping for her mind but this time it was something she wanted banished from her thoughts. The fear clung to her though, her heart was pounding so fast she thought it would burst, couldn't he hear it? Did he really think it was just a nightmare? 'Maybe it was just that,' she thought, 'but it seemed so real, is it what happened to me? I don't want to know, not if that's what it was.' She shook her head and another whimper escaped her, the thought made her feel sick.

"What's going on?" Tonilia questioned rudely as she entered the room with a scowl and fierce eyes. "Oh, the forgetful newcomer, what a surprise," she sneered.

There were others slipping into the place and suddenly it did not seem so dark, there were plenty of torches burning, she could see them but she could not feel their heat, they were too far away for her liking. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I...it was so horrible, you can't imagine, no one could." She swallowed down a mouthful of bile as Mercer's grip slackened from her.

"Go back to sleep," he growled at her, "and do it quietly this time." He then tacked on grudgingly, "no harm will come to you down here."

She nodded wearily and turned from him, shaking like a beggar in the winter. Vex eyed her with scorn though she felt some pity, nightmares could sometimes be twisted, realistic things after all. She turned on one heel and retreated the way she had come. Tonilia, after some more choice remarks, turned and headed not to The Ragged Flagon where she had been but instead to look for Brynjolf. Amaris quivered even when she reached her bed and Cynric extended a friendly hand and squeezed her right arm consolingly.

"It seems real," he said warmly, "but it's not." He knew from experience, sometimes he still dreamed of that prison in High Rock, though thankfully the dreams were not common and he had done a good job of suppressing the worst of the memories.

She nodded even as her eyes darted about trying to inspect every shadow.

'Sometimes they are real,' Mercer thought grimly before he turned and walked back to his desk. 'A mage who knows her arrives and says she was running from something, the same evening she suddenly has a nightmare about something chasing or attacking her, it cannot be a coincidence. Two weeks she's been here and there's been no night terrors, no whimpers or screams, no, that blundering wizard's presence has triggered something in her even if she doesn't want to face it. Maybe that's why she's forgotten everything, because she chose to.'

"I'll stay near if you'd like," Cynric offered.

Amaris wanted to shrug him off and say that he did not have to, she doubted she could sleep again anyway and wondered dully why she had bothered retreating to the bed, was it because Mercer had told her to? She couldn't sleep though, she was far too afraid that if she closed her eyes even once they, whatever they were, would seize the moment and take her. "Close?" she asked hoarsely. It was foolish, she barely knew him, why should he be bothered protecting her from her nightmares?

He nodded reassuringly. "Close." Truthfully Cynric felt sorry for the woman; even if Mercer was purposely ignorant to the rapid pounding of her heart the younger Breton was not, in this was one moment she was almost childlike with her fragile fear.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled as she continued to quake, "it's stupid, but it seemed so real and so horrible." She closed her eyes tight and shook her head as tears slipped out. "I can't face it, I don't want to remember," a horrid laugh escaped her, "I want to remember everything, terrible irony, but not that, never that again."


	5. Chapter 5- A Tangled Web of the Mind

The Bee and Barb, it no more evoked memories for her than anywhere else in Riften had, the strong, sweet taste of Black-Briar ale conjured nothing save a wrinkle of disgust and a request for some orange juice instead. "So we were together two years," Amaris said softly as she looked at her drinking partner with an embarrassed curiosity.

Marcurio felt a slight tingle of fondness when he saw her fair cheeks glow a faint pink and recalled how sweet she had always seemed on those very rare moments when she had dared to blush or smile. He nodded calmly before taking a deep gulp of his own drink, the ale had little effect on him as he was long used to its taste. "Yes, two years and then you vanished for six."

"What was it like?" Amaris wondered aloud. "What was I like? Travelling I mean," she tacked on awkwardly. This desire to know herself was why, after two weeks of debating about it, Amaris had finally surfaced to seek out Marcurio. Mercer had been against it though he had offered no verbal protest, Sapphire had cautioned her against 'that greedy, bastard mage', and Brynjolf had supported her decision. It was the redhead who had escorted her to the tavern before departing on business just under twenty minutes ago. After a surprised greeting from the mage, who had bought them drinks, conversation had swiftly turned stiff between the pair.

"Well you were..." He paused for a moment trying to think of the right words to say. "You were cautious of course, wary but not paranoid, you could be adventurous but never reckless, something always held you back I thought, some fear you wouldn't or couldn't share. You were independent in a fashion, yes you needed a companion and desired one with magic, I'm certain of that even if you never admitted it, but you could survive in the wilderness. Ah but I'm just listing facts any stranger could have observed," he said with a shake of his head. He took a gulp from his glass, wiped his lip with the back of his right hand and grinned. "You were interesting, you could even be fun when you allowed yourself to be, I remember once you covered your face in mud, tied a pair of antlers to your head and woke me with a bellow, I thought you were a beast! I almost torched you and all you could do was laugh." He paused again, observing her for her reaction to his revelation.

Amaris wanted to grab her head with both hands and scream, nothing Marcurio said jolted anything in her mind, he could have been talking about anyone, nothing sounded familiar. 'Is it true?' she wondered in frustration. 'Was I like that? How can I not know?' She looked about the tavern, it was modestly busy with the usual local patrons, though she had no way of knowing how regular or native they were. There were the Argonian proprietors, Dunmer, Nord and Imperial patrons including workers of the local Black-Briar Meadery, warriors, merchant men, and a bard.

"You really don't remember anything do you?" the wizard queried pityingly. "You tried to hold a lot of yourself back when we first met, you didn't want to trust me, it's like you were afraid I'd find out something about you but it was something I don't even think you yourself knew. It was strange but it was like you were running from something or someone but that you never knew what or why. Eventually though, you opened a little to me and I to you, our personalities that is, not our histories, as I said, we both lived for the present. That's common for travellers in Skyrim of course, it's a dangerous place, you never know how long you might live and now with dragons about well..." He shrugged slightly. "A traveller cannot say if he'll see the next sunrise or not with any certainty."

She nodded, forcing herself not to take her growing frustration out on the apprentice mage. 'He was cocky,' she realised with a start, 'and an exaggerator.' She looked to him with mild surprise taking in his tanned Imperial features. 'But strong and loyal.' She sighed. "I remember some things about you," she confessed, "but not me. You were an admirable fighter though not entirely all powerful," he flinched at the accusation and she soothed it by adding, "but certainly stronger than me."

"Honey," he said all of a sudden, "I remember you had a fondness for honey, acquired where or when I don't recall, I think we had it once in an inn, or maybe bartered it from a hunter, but whatever the case you started to crave it. It didn't matter what on or with, you loved it." He grinned. In truth he could not say much more, her favourite colour, hobby, book, anything like that he had never known about her nor she about him, yes they had been lovers but it was about lust and companionship not love. "We were good friends," he attempted to explain, "and...well and more for a time but we never felt a need for building on that, I mean, I never told you my favourite colour for example, little things like that, it wasn't a part of our relationship."

She nodded and said softly, "I understand." In truth she did not, how could she have lain with a man, and she was certain now that she had shared the mage's bed, without being close to him or knowing the things about him that made him who I was. 'Did I just not care?' she wondered. 'Did we simply choose to fulfil our needs with each other because there was no one else? It makes sense I suppose, two years of just the two of us, it was only natural I suppose though it seems cold.' She pulled out the amulet he had given her, the rune that was her only clue and turned it about in her hand. "Solitude," she murmured as she looked at the wolf's head, "I don't remember anything about it, the name is as much a mystery to me as anything else but it's my only clue."

"I'm sorry," Marcurio apologised, "that I could not be more helpful. I've been trying to remember the inn where we separated, I think maybe it was supposedly haunted, or that giants were near it or Hargravens, we just visited so many and I've been to so many since it's hard to recall."

"It's alright," Amaris lied though she privately thought, 'it's not alright, my one link to my past, to myself and he's as clueless as me. It's not fair! Is this a curse?'

"Will you go to Solitude then?" the wizard asked curiously.

Amaris nodded, she could not dwell in the Thieves Guild forever as an outcast hoping her memory would return. "It's better than no lead at all," she commented bitterly.

"Well when you do go come and let me know, I'd like to go with you and it's a long and dangerous journey, so I'm sure you could do with a wizard."

"And not a pack mule," Amaris jested with a small chortle. She paused, stunned for a moment as Marcurio's lip curdled slightly and he scowled before his own tender brown eyes widened.

"You remember that," he commented, "of course it would be that," he grumbled.

"You used to say that," she realised, "when I asked you to help carry our bedrolls and food and whatever other burdens we had."

He nodded firmly. "Well I'm not a pack mule," he retorted sternly.

Amaris dared to laugh again, it was nice to laugh given the pain and confusion she had suffered, it eased her burden if only briefly. "You can come if you want," she said at last, "it would be good to have an apprentice wizard along." She remembered that part too, Marcurio always liked to brag that he was a great and all powerful mage when in fact he was still learning and his powers were limited. 'At least something's coming back,' she thought, 'but it's recollections, nothing solid, I don't remember any day we spent together, how it felt to have him touch me, how late we sat up together or how early we rose.'

He frowned at the reminder of his limitation but did not argue it. "Well I stay here so just come and let me know when you want to leave and I'll be ready."

"Just like that?" she wondered aloud.

He nodded eagerly with a flash of longing in his brown eyes, already he had grown impatient with lingering in the one place, yes Riften was nice and would always be home but it did not have ruins and books or exciting foes for the mage. "Yep, I told you, I'm an explorer and adventurer by nature, Riften is my home in a sense but I don't have a home in it, it's not my nature to settle."

"Nor was it mine," she guessed.

"Actually," the mage dared to argue as he finished his drink, "I think maybe it was, that what you really wanted was a home but you denied yourself it out of fear." He sat his empty glass down and waved his left outwards sharply to emphasise his words. "Don't get me wrong, you did enjoy some of our adventures even if your fears never left you but I don't think it was a life you would have picked for yourself if given the choice."

"Maybe not," she said quietly, entirely unsure of the truth. "Well," she looked to her empty glass and pushed it away, "I should go. I've taken up enough of your time and I guess you've told me all you can. I'll return when I'm going to Solitude," she assured as she pushed back a stray curl of coppery brown hair.

Marcurio nodded as he stood up from the bar stool to walk her to the door. "Are you alright going back to...well them?" Marcurio queried with an obvious distaste. "I could accompany you or you could stay here, I could pay for a room," he offered.

"It's fine," Amaris retorted as she gave him a grateful smile before turning to the wooden doors. "It's still daylight outside and I can find my way and you shouldn't waste your coin. They're not bad people, well not all bad; they took me in and helped me."

"Yes but why?" Marcurio demanded quietly as he glanced about, wary of someone listening in on their conversation. "What do they gain from it?"

Amaris shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, "I do not think Brynjolf sought to profit from it, I think he was just being kind but...Mercer hopes I'm valuable I think, some exotic prisoner worth a high sum of coin perhaps."

"You shouldn't stay with him then!" Marcurio protested in horror, drawing a curious look from Mjoll, a Nord warrior sitting to their left. "Whoever had you, had you prisoner and if he would send you back to that for some coin, it's disgusting!"

"Shush," Amaris chided him softly, well aware of the attention they were garnering, including a cool, suspicious stare from a dark haired woman who sat unobtrusively against the wall. "I have thought about the consequences of staying with them, I'm forgetful not thick," she remarked sharply, "and for now I will take the risk. He knows no more about my captives than I do and there is no guarantee that any profit will ever be offered for me, chances are I was a lowly thief or someone simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." Even as she said the words Amaris knew they were false, it had been much more complicated than that though she had no idea how or why.

Marcurio sighed angrily. "Well it's your choice," he grumbled, "though I can assure you, you were no thief." He opened the door at last to a calm, warm afternoon slowly turning to night. "Keep safe and if you cannot find your way back or change your mind or run into trouble, come back to me," he insisted.

"I will," she assured, "and thank you for all your help."

"If you can call it that," he retorted bitterly, "I hardly offered you any."

"You have done what you can," Amaris assured him, "I guess I must simply give it time and go to Solitude. Maybe there things will return to me."

"Hopefully."

"Well farewell," she replied before stepping out onto Riften's cobblestone streets.

"Bye Foxhair." Marcurio shut the door at last and returned to the bar.

She walked at a swift pace, glancing about her every so often as footsteps seemed to draw too near or voices call too close. It was always just an indifferent bystander wandering past, or a wary yet not quite suspicious guard with eyes upon her. She took no time to enjoy the sight of Riften, large and beautiful as it was, instead she looked not for appealing sights but familiar ones. She knew one secret entrance was in the graveyard, that was easy enough to recall, and others were down by the docks but she did not think she could spy them so easily. So which way was the graveyard then?

She turned a corner sharply, and was forced to halt in awkward haste as she almost walked into a tall male accompanied by two others. He paused and smirked as he looked down at her. "Well, well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he greeted leeringly.

Amaris looked up at him politely and found a fair skinned, dark haired, richly dressed man staring back with intrigued dark eyes. He was youthful, somewhere in his late twenties she guessed with a small hint of a beard at his chin, his face otherwise cleanly shaven and his hair kept neatly short. He exuded a pompous stance as he waited for her to give a retort. When she stayed silent, his smirk widened and he commented wryly, "stunned into silence? Well I suppose I can have that affect on women," he sneered sardonically. "A pretty little redhead too, not too common in Riften, tell me, what's your name?"

"Amaris," she answered calmly, unafraid to give it since it was false.

"Amaris..." he answered questioningly, waiting for a second name.

She flinched slightly and tried to think of a surname to give, any of the thieves' last names would be risky but none was springing to mind quick enough. "Hollyhorn," she lied at last.

"Hollyhorn?" the man echoed suspiciously. "I haven't heard it but then I haven't seen you before either, obviously you're not from Riften."

She glanced briefly at his two companions, muscular men, neither could match his height, they both had weapons, one a sheathed sword and the other an axe held loosely in his right hand, they lacked armour though, they were the man's guards presumably, more thugs than soldiers.

"Don't be alarmed," the man said mockingly as he saw her strange eyes darting over his companions, "they're just friends of mine. So, Amaris, have you been taken on a tour of the city yet?"

"Yes," she answered quickly as she tried to think of a way to leave the man without causing offence. 'Why is he so eager to talk to me?' she wondered worriedly. 'He does not seem to know me, no more than anyone else in this city, so what's his interest?'

"Ha, by who? Some charlatan guide eager to make a quick coin? Or maybe friends or family you know here, I'm sure I know them too, hmm?" He continued to study her, she was a little less buxom than what he was used to, in fact she was downright bony, more boyish than womanly but still her innocent, startled looking face was certainly arousing and the freckles dusting either side of her nose lightly were a cute addition. 'A bit more meat on her and fewer bruises and she might be nice,' he thought, 'still, I don't think I've bedded a redhead.'

Now she was caught, if she mentioned the thieves there might be trouble but if she said she was alone it might be even worse. "Marcurio," she babbled out, realising it was foolish to mention him when she did not know his last name, "my friend Marcurio lives here."

"Marcurio who?" He gave her another teasing grin. "Isn't it custom to give last names where you're from?"

"You haven't given me any name at all," she pointed out boldly.

He laughed. "You're right, how rude of me! I'm just too used to my reputation preceding me I suppose. I'm Sibbi Black-Briar but if you've heard anything of my family please don't feel intimidated we only make memories of those who cross us."

Was that a threat or some strange assurance? She could remember Sapphire, Cynric and Vekel all grumbling about the Black-Briars, the thieves had strong ties with one Maven Black-Briar though they did not seem entirely happy about it. "Well it's nice to meet you," she lied, "but I don't want to keep you-"

"I've always got time for the ladies," he assured.

"Nor do I wish to keep my friend," she finished with a tight smile.

"Come now, I'm sure he won't mind, let me give you a proper tour, I'm sure he missed out things, like the Black-Briar Manor."

"Thank you for your offer but I really must hurry, he will be travelling soon," she insisted as she held his gaze, trying hard to conceal her unease.

Sibbi frowned slightly and folded his arms. "Alright, well at least let me escort you to your friend, wouldn't do to have a woman wandering about such dangerous streets on her own you know, there are thieves about here."

"She knows." The voice came from behind Sibbi and his men, causing the men to turn with a start, both grasping for their weapons and Sibbi to scowl before turning with better grace.

"Do you have business or are you here to gawk?" Sibbi dared to demand brazenly as he glowered at the man with a transparent displeasure.

"You're hardly worth my time," Mercer Frey answered with equal venom in his voice.

Sibbi narrowed his dark gaze before looking over his shoulder at Amaris who looked back at him blankly, purposely giving nothing away. "Well the girl can't possibly be worth it," he snapped back, irritated by the thief's presence. "She's clearly not wealthy."

"She's not my concern but she's not yours either Sibbi," Mercer growled back, "however she is staying in my guild."

"Oh really?" Sibbi whirled round to face Amaris fully, daring to put his back to Mercer. "So you're a thief then are you? Wily vixen, I'm not surprised you felt the need to keep that quiet but don't worry, the Black-Briars and the Thieves Guild have a close connection."

Amaris nodded, knowing better than to deny the accusation. "I really do have to hurry," she murmured calmly, "my friend's waiting."

"Of course," Sibbi said bitingly, "well be on your way then, I suppose the thieves are no threat to you. I'm sure we will see each other soon anyway." He grinned and added, "bye then Amaris." He walked off with his men behind him, sidestepping her with ease and leaving her to meet the moody gaze of Mercer Frey.

"You need to be more careful if you're going to wander on your own," he immediately scorned her, "do you know what his intentions were? If you can't defend yourself stay underground."

"I'm sure I could take an educated guess about his intentions," Amaris answered icily, "and I am no child to be scolded. True I know nothing of Riften or its people and wander in ignorance but I know to take precautions, if I had simply ignored him I imagine he would have openly taken offence and had me beaten or worse."

Mercer folded his arms and scowled at her. "So sorry I interrupted your handling of the situation then," he growled at her sardonically.

She sighed, pushed back two thick strands of hair from either side of her face and remarked calmly, "thank you for helping, I am grateful for it."

"I'm just protecting my investment," he replied heatedly.

She resisted frowning back, irked by how he referred to her like an object, and reminded herself that he had made no secret of hoping to earn something out of helping her. As Marcurio had warned he might very well callously trade her back to her captors if the price was high enough.

"Well if you're done sightseeing let's return to the Guild," he snapped at her.

She nodded and began to walk with him. With ease he led her to the graveyard and down the secret entrance, she suppressed a shudder as the light was sealed from view and they were enveloped in dimness and shadows. She bit her lip to hold back an unwilling whimper and reminded herself that this place was safe, there were people in it willingly and it had plenty of torchlight and beds, not chains, and even a bar, it was a sanctuary not a prison.

"So, what did the mage tell you?" Mercer demanded bluntly as they walked through a corridor and he dispatched a snarling Skeever with ease. "What more do you remember?"

"We were close, he was loyal and powerful but we shared little," Amaris answered willingly, "we did not care to truly know each other. He picked up one thing about me on our travels, that I liked honey. Hardly the revelation you or I was hoping for I know, but it's all he could say. Either I could not or would not share with him and he likewise, we liked each other but not enough or neither of us is a sharing person, I do not know."

"How convenient," Mercer grumbled.

"Not really," Amaris argued quietly as they neared the Cistern. "I want to go to Solitude," she confessed as she glanced up at him, "it's my only lead, however feeble it is. My wounds are healed and if I stay here I risk staying as I am, a hindrance to you with my memory never returning."

Mercer frowned in the cover of the shadows; he had known this would happen soon. It was a chance to see his new burden removed from his life and gone for good probably, it would be easy to allow but he knew the frustration of never knowing who or what she was would drive him to madness. He had to know, and more importantly he could not allow anyone else to take advantage in his place and find a potential profit for themselves. "We do jobs all over Skyrim," he remarked curtly, "it widens our chances, develops our skills and varies and increases our treasures. If you go you won't go alone, we have a deal, you tell me what you remember until you've told me it all."

She nodded, though she knew very well that he had only added the latter part of their deal there now. "Come if you want, Marcurio is," she informed him calmly as they entered the Cistern.

He gritted his teeth at that and scowled again, knowing how little it would take for the mage to annoy him. 'And who said I was going?' he wondered heatedly. 'What an assumption for her to make, I'm Guild Master here, still to trust her to another, no that would be foolish, any one of them might take advantage, we're all thieves here. The noble intentions are only good until there's a real temptation or challenge, say the answers are in Solitude and she is a noble brat, someone else might take the jewelled ransom and I cannot have that.'

"We'll discuss it later," he grumbled.

She nodded, and accepting that as a dismissal, she went to her bed and pulled out her copy of Beggar Prince to continue reading. She read peacefully for two hours, with the steady trickle of water and babble of Guild members conversing for comfort. Then Cynric and Etienne arrived and started up a conversation with her, Cynric not so subtly prying into what the mage had told her. Amaris told them both, only holding back that she and Marcurio had been more than friends, no one here needed to know that. Cynric laughed when she mentioned her supposed love for honey and Etienne politely suggested she procure some and test this passion. Cynric then promised to bring her a honey treat the next time he found one on his ventures before he suggested she learn more about using a bow.

For the rest of the day Amaris took lessons, with the bow from Cynric and Niruin and with blades from Thrynn and the cocky Nord. Exhausted with all her muscles aching she finally retired to her bed, forgoing food despite the growl in her stomach. Hunger was something she had long grown used to and trying to adjust to regularly eating was a struggle, despite Etienne's insistence that she ate better and Brynjolf's assurance that she was welcome to all the food in the Guild.

_They made him scream and bleed, yanked her head up and pulled her eyelids open, forcing her to watch. She could feel their nails in her brow; hear their low whispering laughter mixing with his hoarse howls. She begged for him as she had for others but it was in vain, he was not spared though he lingered longer than the last one. His moans of pain and pleas for release were her lullaby for almost seven days though she was not to know it. The rack did not silence him nor the jagged whips or the prongs, only when they pulled out his tongue did he finally go mute._

_She felt their hands reach for her face, she tried to struggle back, tried to resist but they were too quick and strong. Suffocating her, their little game, holding her mouth, clamping her nose, blocking the filthy air from her until her head burned and her vision danced with red and black. She couldn't breathe, she was dizzy, she was panicking, she couldn't breathe!_

Vex heard the screams calling down the corridor and immediately turned around and retreated back to The Ragged Flagon, unwilling to deal with the girl. It was her again, no doubt, she was not the only one in their world who suffered nightmares but she was the only one whose screams sang so loudly down the corridors, perhaps because the others slept privately behind thicker walls or simply because they did not scream. She opened and shut the door, sighing in relief as the screams were temporarily banished. Eyeing Cynric sitting by himself at a round, wooden table, she immediately joined him, sitting opposite him with an aloof golden gaze.

"Vex, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he greeted merrily.

The Nord leaned back in her chair, stretching her right arm outright behind her along the chair's back. "Nothing, I just needed a drink, I swear this place is getting worse."

"Buying into Delvin's curse?" Cynric queried mockingly.

"No, I think he's crazy," she dismissed casually, "but we are in a bad way. The coin isn't coming in the way it used to, people are leaving and now our dear Guild Master is wasting our time on some girl."

Cynric chortled at this as he leaned back in his own chair and folded his arms. "Now your time has hardly been wasted."

"Oh no?" She cocked a pale eyebrow at the former jailbreaker. "I hardly call chasing after a mage in the sewers a good investment of my time. Of course I suppose you would defend her presence," she remarked accusingly, "you seem to enjoy her company."

The tall, blonde, Imperial lookout Dirge swung open the wooden door Vex had come through letting the sounds of Amaris' screams echo briefly to them. He shook his head wearily and grumbled loudly to Vekel and Tonilia, "that sick girl is screaming again, does my head in, someone should put her out of her misery."

Tonilia let out a giggle before retorting brightly, "she's not sick just touched in the head and unfortunately the boss has an interest in her so you'll have to play nice and leave her in her misery."

Cynric stood up swiftly at the sound of the screams causing Vex to roll her golden eyes in exasperation. "Are you really so interested in her or can you just not get attention elsewhere?" she queried acerbically.

Cynric looked at her in surprise before giving her a knowing grin. "Ah I see, you've got the wrong idea my dear Vex," he answered merrily before running off.

Amaris, having been shaken awake by a furious Mercer, was now rasping upright on her bed, pawing at her face with both hands and giving every impression that she could not breathe. Her eyes were so wide her pupils were almost lost in the whites of them, and her skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, a by product of fear rather than heat as the Cistern remained as cold and damp as ever and her blankets were in a tangle on the end of the bed. At first Mercer assumed it was a pantomime, a side effect of her nightmare but then as her skin started to turn an odd shade of grey he wondered if she really could not breathe. 'Damn mage,' he cursed in his head, 'twice now she's seen him and twice now she's had screaming nightmares.'

Cynric entered the room at a run, pausing awkwardly when he saw the Guild Master wrenching the girl's hands from her face. Cynric flinched at the blood welts rising up on her cheeks and brow, whilst Mercer muttered a curse and shook her hands hard. "Come to your senses already!" Mercer snapped as he quickly lost patience.

Cynric stepped forward then, choosing to risk the Guild Master's wrath to cease his brutal attempts to pull Amaris from her terrors. He met Mercer's glare with a calm stare before reaching out to the young woman. Mercer surrendered her, grumbling, "let's see if you fare better then."

Cynric drew her close against him, wrapping one arm about her hair and the other around her back. "It was only a dream," he murmured, "just a bad nightmare but it's over, it's over."

Vex entered the room quietly, her eyes burning with curiosity and a subtle irritation. Mercer did not bother looking her way, knowing exactly who had entered, but instead kept his own annoyed gaze on Amaris and Cynric.

"Breathe now," Cyrnic urged, "come on now, you can."

"They...they..." She shook her head feebly. "They wouldn't let me! It was a game..." She sucked in a deep gulp of air and then another desperately. "A horrible game, they suffocated me, over and over."

"Who are they?" Mercer demanded bluntly.

She shook her head. "They live in the dark, I don't know, I never remember!"

"You don't want to remember," he argued fiercely.

Cynric considered a protest but he did not dare go against his Guild Master. Instead he pulled back from the woman, met her frightened gaze with his own and murmured, "well they are not down here whoever they are."

"How can you know?" she demanded as she looked about nervously. "There are so many places to hide." She sucked in another anxious breath and shuddered, well aware as to how foolish and cowardly she appeared. Yet the fear would not leave her, almost as suffocating as the hands in her dream had been. She hated it though, hated feeling it and showing it.

"I know when unwelcome people are down here," Mercer snapped, further irritated by her implication that his Guild was not that well defended.

She looked to him and he realised that the blood on her face came from pinch marks as if she had been trying to pull her own skin off. 'Or something on her skin,' he realised as he continued to frown. "Two encounters with the mage and two nightmares now," he stated bluntly, "what memory does he conjure that you suppress? Or has he cursed you with these visions?"

"No," she answered sharply, "he's not like that."

"How in the Eight Divines would you know?" he demanded sardonically. "You don't remember him, or do you?"

His stare was so penetrating she wondered if he could see into her mind, perhaps even better than she could. "I know when he says that we were friends that he is telling the truth, I don't remember specific encounters with him or moments but I recall him being friendly and loyal. No, this, these nightmares, I don't know...I want them to only be just that but...but maybe they are memories of a horrible, black place, where I was tormented but I don't remember and why should I?" she asked savagely. There was a flicker then, a blurred recollection of a screaming man. "Would you want to remember such a thing? Is it better than no memory at all? Visions of pain, suffocation, torture and people slowly murdered before me for sport!" She let out a gasp of horror then at her own revelation and Cynric's eyes widened whilst Mercer's face betrayed nothing.

"What people?" the Guild Master questioned carefully.

"I don't know," she answered woefully with a shake of her head, "I don't know!"

"You don't want to," he growled back reprovingly.

"You're right," she agreed quietly, "I don't, because to have names or faces to the screams, that I would rather forget."

"Well if you forget all that then you might never remember anything else," he warned, "which is no good to you or me."

She looked at him pleadingly for just a brief moment before reminding herself that this man was cold by nature, and tried to calm herself, knowing her quivers were useless. "Would you want to remember such things?" she demanded again.

He studied her hard for a moment before answering, "yes, for such things made me who I am. You suppress them and you suppress yourself." He turned at last in frustration and returned to his desk where he had been studying potential treasures in Solitude before the woman's screams.

Cynric sighed. "Don't mind him," he said quietly, "he's just a heartless bastard sometimes that's all." He grinned at her in an attempt to put her at ease, well aware of Vex's look of disapproval. "He has a point though, you've only screamed after seeing the mage-"

"He is not the cause," she interrupted wearily, "perhaps merely the catalyst." She looked up at Cynric with a tired stare. "You cannot tell me it was just a nightmare; it was a memory, a real thing that happened to me once."

"Yes once," he said gently as he dabbed at her cuts on her face at last with his brown sleeve, "but it's not happening now. "Sometimes the past is best left in the past," he suggested, "you can remember other things about yourself without dwelling on that."

She shook her head, causing his sleeve to smear the blood across her cheeks. "No, he's right, I risk remembering nothing if I try to suppress things." She clenched her fists tightly until her knuckles turned white. "I have to just deal with it, it's in my mind, it can't hurt me."

"Right," Cynric commented dryly as he looked at her red cuts pointedly. He sighed once she was as clean as he could get her and mussed her tangled hair teasingly. "I'll stay near," he vowed, "try and get some more rest, you look exhausted."

Her stomach let out a low, unpleasant growl as she nodded.

"When did you last eat?" he pried with a smile.

"I don't know," she confessed.

"Let's deal with that first then," he suggested, "but first a moment with our observing thief." He broke from Amaris at last, stood up and walked back to Vex, still smiling. "You seem terribly interested in the woman who vexes you so," he remarked tauntingly.

Vex's scowl deepened. "You are the one who's interested," she retorted frostily.

Cynric rested his hands slightly on his hips and shook his head scornfully. "Not in that way, not for the moment anyway."

"But later?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "I cannot predict the future but I don't intend to bed her if that's what you want to know, and I think it is. For starters I'm a little afraid our Guild Master might geld me for it, maybe his prize is only good with her maidenhood in tact, if she still has it, or maybe he has a secret inclination for reds, and there I always thought he liked his women with dark hair. Still," he added lightly, "best not risking it for the sake of serving baser needs."

"Then why all the attention?" Vex demanded. "Why do you run to her when she screams Endell?"

"Endell? Vex that stings, don't be so formal," he said with mock hurt. "Look," his expression turned serious and he drew his brown hood up at last, casting half his face in shadows, "I had a younger sister, she had nightmares a lot in our youth, soothing them became second nature to me, so I'm practised with it, that's all, and no one else here wants to help Amaris."

"What happened to your sister?" Vex pried.

"That doesn't matter," he answered calmly, "point is I just want to help Amaris, so don't get jealous my lovely Vex."

"Jealous?" The Nord's lip curled up in a sneer. "That was a onetime thing Endell, don't get ideas."

He sighed as she turned and walked off, her boots slapping hard on the stones of the floor. "Right," he muttered, "your substitute for the unattainable Guild Master."


	6. Chapter 6- Thieves and Thorns

"Mercer I understand your interest in the girl, I share it too but the Guild is suffering so many problems, would it not be better to just let her go with the mage?"

"Maybe it would," Mercer grumbled back, "but luckily I'm still in charge so I get to decide. You are only in charge when I'm gone, you and Vex." He gave a nod to the moody, pale haired Imperial leaning her back against a wooden table.

"Won't you need others to go with you?" Vex queried, making sure it sounded like a question rather than a statement. "I know you are more than capable of handling yourself," she added on hastily, "but there are jobs to do in Solitude, so a group should go."

"Good idea," Brynjolf enthused, "send a group, then you will still have trustworthy eyes on Amaris."

"I'm going Brynjolf," Mercer growled back, "and you're staying because someone needs to be in charge." He realised if he did not permit anyone to come along it would look suspicious, perhaps even possessive and greedy, it would lead to people wondering even more about the strange young woman and Mercer did not want others contemplating her value. Still, Vex was right; there were jobs to be done in Solitude so he was going to have to allow some people to come along.

"Well I'm going," Cynric chirped up as he joined them, twirling his bow about his right wrist. He grinned up at his Guild Master and added, "I'm sure inviting me just slipped your mind, though we both know I'll be great at dealing with the strong boxes and locks."

"I'm the lock expert," Vex interrupted coolly with a frosty stare to match her tone, "and I'm the best infiltrator this rathole of a Guild's got."

Cynric gave a teasing laugh. "Competition hmm? Well why don't you come along and we'll see who the best is?" he suggested with a grin.

"Did I not just order you to stay in charge with Brynjolf?" Mercer queried the woman sharply.

She scowled back boldly and remarked firmly, "I am the best infiltrator and with the Guild's luck being what it is you cannot afford to take a chance on an amateur," she looked pointedly at Cynric as she said that.

"No," Mercer commented flatly, "greater numbers draws greater attention, so two groups will go to Solitude," he announced, quietly pleased with his idea.

"Me, the mage, you and Amaris in one," Cynric interrupted happily before Mercer could dismiss him, "it's a good even four."

Mercer frowned at him but did not argue, Cynric was crafty, and as self-interested as the rest of them, but Mercer suspected though he was certainly an opportunist he would not risk his position in the Guild by stealing the Guild Master's prize. The younger Breton had unwillingly done jail time, he knew how quickly things could go sour and he knew when he had it good, no, his interest his Amaris was irritating but not threatening.

"Right," Mercer agreed reluctantly, "and another group of four, Vex you can organise that, you will leave three days after us, understood?"

The pale haired woman swallowed down an argument and nodded though her defiance still blazed in her amber eyes. "Right," Mercer muttered, "we will leave at dawn, now I have business to attend to with the Black-Briars, unless anyone else wishes to waste my time?"

They shook their heads and the Guild Master paced off from their sight. Brynjolf sighed and scratched his reddish-brown beard awkwardly. "Does the lass know?" he wondered aloud.

"Probably not the details," Cynric guessed, "it's her idea to go to Solitude but Mercer seems to be doing the organising. I'll tell her when I can find her."

"You let her out of your sight?" Vex queried sardonically as she folded her arms. "Did she finally reject you or did you grow bored of your game?"

Cynric sighed. "I've already told you it's not like that."

"Like what?" Brynjolf demanded with an inquisitive look.

Cynric gave an awkward laugh. "Like nothing because there is nothing, anyway I should find her."

Brynjolf scrutinised him before retorting, "she's in Riften talking to the mage."

"Oh great," Vex sneered cynically, "more nightmares."

Maven Black-Briar, head of the infamous Black-Briar family, studied the red headed thief inconspicuously from her position again the wall at her private table. She had noticed her the last time she was in The Bee and the Barb simply because of the golden robed mage shouting at her at the door, some unwise yelling about a prisoner and coin. It had piqued Maven's interest only briefly, she was not in the hobby of learning random girls' history and anything important going on in the city always came to her ears without her having to investigate. Then her middle son Sibbi had come to her grumbling about Mercer Frey whilst murmuring about a new fancy of his, a redhead with strange but enchanting eyes, he had called a skinny but beguiling vixen, supposedly a new member of The Thieves Guild. Maven knew this redhead had to be the same, certainly she was hardly the only redhead in Riften, indeed perhaps not the only female redheaded thief, but she did have mismatched eyes, Maven had noticed that when she had entered the inn twenty minutes ago, and that was a rarity.

The dark haired woman raised her wine glass slowly and took a brief sip, in a matter of minutes she could have confirmation on the matter, unless he decided to be difficult. Lately the man had often been more foul than usual. She sighed to herself and lowered the glass as the main door opened and Mercer Frey strode in with his usual bold and imposing stomp. When he wanted to be he could be as soft as a caress and silent as a whisper, but equally when he wanted to be he could march with all the noise and power of a mammoth, and the mood and threat of a cave bear. Maven hated meeting the Guild Master publicly, certainly most of the ears in the city paid allegiance to her but there were the odd few with interests elsewhere to be aware of, but the master thief had called a halt to their private meetings a long time ago. Once he had not even minded meeting on her territory in her mansion and equally she had been tolerable of meeting in his private quarters at Riftweald Manor.

The master thief did not even look Amaris' way; he knew she was there, in front and a couple of inches to the right, seated beside the annoying mage sharing drinks. He ignored them and took a seat opposite Maven and gave her a bored stare.

"Good afternoon," Maven greeted calmly with a small grin. Mercer answered with a blunt nod, letting her know that as usual he wanted to keep their conversation to a minimum. Refusing to let Mercer dictate the mood, the attractive Nord decided to bait him instead. "Sibbi sends his regards, he says you rather rudely interrupted his meeting with a new thief in the city and he wants to know how he can get a private audience with her." She paused and frowned with displeasure before adding, "I reminded him that you run a guild not a brothel." The Nord looked over pointedly at Amaris back and commented, "she's a rather scrawny looking thing, but then the boy has no taste, any woman will do, a weakness I've warned him about before."

"I didn't come here to discuss Sibbi's women problems," Mercer growled, refusing to rise to the bait. "You sent me a note."

Maven gave a slight frown and thought, 'he's never amusing anymore, always sombre, always serious.' "Yes," she said before taking another sip from her glass. "As I said in the note I need the skills of our talented Mr. Endell. I would consider it a personal favour."

Mercer bristled slightly as she referred to Cynric as 'our' before snarling, "no."

"Why not?" Maven demanded sharply as she felt the first spark of her temper jump inside her.

"Not that I have to give you a reason but he has business to do elsewhere."

"For who?" Maven queried heatedly.

"For me," Mercer retorted icily as he held her angry, brown stare. Once that stare had intrigued him but now it only aggravated him.

"Well after then," Maven said smoothly, "although the matter is of urgency my friend is hardly going anywhere."

"No," Mercer said again vehemently, "it would be idiotic going to Cidhna Mine, and whilst Cyrnic is certainly a fool I'm not, and I won't permit it."

"Mercer," Maven snapped as she clenched the stem of her glass tight and leaned across the table just a little, "don't try my patience. The man is an expertise at jail breaking, at best he succeeds, at worst he's imprisoned, hardly a loss, I'm sure he's expendable if he's no good at his job and I'll pay either way for the trouble, naturally more if he succeeds."

Mercer shook his head firmly and growled back quietly, "Maven don't try my patience, now you can run the city if you want but the Guild is mine, you're no threat to me merely an annoyance."

She released the stem of her glass at last to fold her arms beneath the table and try and hide some of her growing rage. "Is that so?" she quipped tartly. "I have connections with the Thalmor and the Dark Brotherhood too, you would do well to remember that Guild Master."

He shook his head scornfully and stood up from the table. "We're done here Maven." He turned before she could say anymore and walked to the door, exiting out of it swiftly.

Maven departed quickly after. Ten minutes later Amaris and Marcurio, oblivious to the argument, finally concluded their own conversation. "So tomorrow then," Marcurio said cheerfully as he stood to walk Amaris to the door.

"Tomorrow," she answered confidently, "shortly after sunrise I should think, if the details change I'll let you know."

He nodded. "I'll meet you at the stables," he retorted. "I'm still not happy about the thief going," he added with a scowl of displeasure.

Amaris smiled at him and confessed, "it doesn't bother me, he will be a good ally to have."

"Or a treacherous one," Marcurio grumbled as he opened the door for her.

This time Amaris remembered the route to the graveyard, she walked swiftly, wary of each person she passed after her run-in with Sibbi Black-Briar. She made it without incident, unaware that it was Sibbi's fiancée Svidi she passed in a group of women, or of the dark eyes of the Nord himself flickering briefly in her direction until someone else's cold stare warned him off. Sibbi, instead of pursuing his latest fancy, remained in his group and wandered on unnoticed, vowing to complain to his mother again and seize the next opportunity he had to talk to the redhead alone.

It was to her relief that she met Brynjolf at the secret entrance to the Guild; it was one thing finding the Guild and another thing entirely to wander it through it. Initially, as Mercer had pointed out, the dark tunnels had not bothered the woman but lately there was a fear she just could not shake much as she wanted to, a certainty that down there somewhere was something that wanted to hurt her.

"Well lass," he addressed her brightly before they started descending the steps, "did you meet the mage?"

Amaris nodded. "Yes."

"And is he still going with you to Solitude?"

"Yes," she answered calmly with a small smile, "he says he's becoming restless in Riften and eager for another adventure and he wants to help me if he can."

Brynjolf grinned as he led them through a wooden door on the right and down a corridor littered with rotting barrels, rusted weapons and forgotten, tattered clothes. 'Mercer will be delighted,' he thought mockingly. "I wish I could come with you," he admitted, "but someone has to take care of the Guild, still, it's been a while since I've been to Solitude."

Amaris looked up at the older man questioningly and asked, "what is it like?"

"It's the biggest city in Skyrim, home to the High King, well it was," he paused thoughtfully for a moment. Having their own personal problems meant few of the thieves cared much for the politics of their country, Stormcloak or Imperial, it mattered little, a purse of coin was a purse of coin. "His widow Elisif is Jarl there now. It's a coastal city, built above the Sea of Ghosts on a natural arch of rock, and the Blue Palace is there, and the Bards' College. It's an impressive city, I haven't been in a couple of years, but I remember it being very big and full of many exotic treasures brought in by sea from other lands. Certainly plenty of houses, shops and stalls to pilfer from."

Amaris sighed as she gave a grateful nod; none of Brynjolf's description had conjured any memories within her, they only increased her longing to go there. "Thank you for telling me," she said sincerely as she tugged out her gold amulet and looked at the wolf's head briefly before placing the amulet back under her shirt. 'Could it be something else?' she wondered. 'The others say it matches the wolf's head of Solitude perfectly but why? Am I from there or did I merely buy it passing through? Was it a gift? Was it simply a trinket for luck? Maybe I didn't even get from there but some merchant tricked me into buying it,' she thought dismally, 'promising it would bring me luck.'

"Don't fret lass," Brynjolf said kindly as they entered the Cistern, "your memories will come back to you, just be patient."

"I know," she retorted quietly though she wondered if perhaps her memories would never come back to her. 'Is it a spell or a curse?' she wondered. 'Or the effects of a bad injury?' She wandered over to her now familiar bed whilst Brynjolf went to search for Tonilia, hoping that she wasn't occupied with Vekel.

Amaris paused in surprise as she found a small, dented plate sitting on her bed with two decent chunks of honeycomb dripping with sweet, sticky, golden honey resting on it. She sat beside the plate, regarding it warily at first and glancing about to see if anyone was near to claim it. She saw only the Bosmer Niruin who, as usual, was occupied with archery. Satisfied that it was meant for her and had not simply been abandoned on her bed, she dared to sample a bite. For a moment there was a faint flash of familiarity, a blurred recollection of sticky fingers, laughter, running about beneath the sun, and then it was gone. The taste was sweet on her tongue, it had been too long since she had anything nice, she was certain of it, save the stale Sweetroll Cynric had pilfered for her, earning a scolding from Mercer and Sapphire, who had both pointed out that stealing one mere dessert was petty theft at best and below their standards.

A surge of joy rushed through her as she eagerly finished the piece, chewing down on it slowly, trying to savour each saccharine mouthful before sucking her fingers of the sticky spillage of honey that stained them. This was contentment, this was something long forgotten to her she realised, something so simple and yet so wonderful. Yes, she knew that Marcurio was right, she had loved honey in all its varieties, it was a guilty pleasure, a forgotten moment of selfish bliss, and an all too rare treat she had been denied for years. Most foods had been denied her, she had come here starved, perhaps towards the end all foods had been kept from her, perhaps her captors had concluded she had lost her usage and wanted her to die.

She looked at the second piece for a moment, it was almost surreal, she had forgotten the simple joy so easily, it had been so long it now seemed like an odd dream. With some reluctance she reached for the second piece, yes she wanted it but once it was gone, it was gone, and this brief moment of happiness would be ended. It was silly, she knew that even as she suckled on the piece, pulling the honey into her with a small moan of elation, absurd even but she could not help herself. She had rediscovered something about herself, confirmed a trait of personality that Marcurio had told her about, something had come back at last, and even if it was a small part it was better than nothing.

When the honeycomb was finally finished she was morose for a moment, in an attempt to distract herself from her sudden sorrow she pulled out her battered copy of The Beggar Prince from under her pillow and began to read it, wondering for the umpteenth time who had bothered to give her a bookmark.

After struggling through it for twenty minutes she became aware of someone's frosty gaze upon her. She looked up calmly, unsurprised to find herself in Mercer's shade. She was becoming used to his ability to move with all the silence and stealth of a shadow. "You can't read," it was an accusation not a question, "at least not good enough to be attempting to read a novel." He stood, scowling with his arms folded, regarding her with disapproval.

"I try," she said heatedly, "and I know some things but it's hard, but if I don't keep trying I will never learn and I want to."

"It's foolish learning by yourself," he scorned, "you need to be taught something like that."

"Well if I was I don't remember or I wasn't taught well," she retorted carelessly before turning her attention back to the book, annoyed by his scorn.

"Why not ask someone to teach you then?" he demanded.

"I don't want to waste anyone's time," she retorted calmly, "I know everyone has things to do for the Guild and I don't want to interfere with that."

Mercer sighed scornfully. "People can balance their time you know," he growled at her.

She looked up at him fiercely, meeting his condescending stare and asked boldly, "are you volunteering to teach me?"

His expression curdled slightly and though he hid his emotion he was taken aback by her question. "Well someone should since you're too stupid to ask," he muttered. "Alright, I suppose I will, but not for long, I'm the Guild Master and I have other duties. Bring the book with you and I'll teach you while we travel, if I can," he said like it was a lot of effort for him to even consider helping her. "We will be going in the dawn," he added, "you, me, Cynric and the mage I suppose." He looked to her questioningly, evidently hoping the mage had changed his mind.

"Marcurio," she answered stiffly, "and yes, he's coming."

"Good you can remember someone's name," he retorted coldly before turning and walking off to his desk. Once he sat down he immediately busied himself with inking out notes and wondering curiously how long it would be before Maven decided to attempt revenge for his refusal to loan her Cynric and if she would at least be kind enough to wait for his return or petty enough to take advantage of his absence. 'Well Brynjolf and Vex can handle her,' he thought grudgingly, 'but it would be no surprise if she decided to overreact and do something extreme.'

Amaris spent the rest of the day reading, learning tips about hand to hand combat and knife fighting from Sapphire and Brynjolf, and some more archery tactics from Cynric and Niruin. Sapphire offered to take her to get more clothes for her journey, commenting that Cynric had paid Amaris' debts so she was happy to loan her some more coin for garments but Amaris opted for travelling light. The redhead did wonder though what she would do when clothes became a necessity, she could not rely on the thieves' temporary idea of charity with interest forever.

When night came the resident thieves drifted off to sleep, Cynric purposely taking a bed near Amaris' whilst the rest of the thieves were scattered about, some in the beds, others going above to stay in the inn or with secret lovers, and others off to do late night jobs in the city. There had been two fatalities today for the Guild- one a new member, the other a regular for five years, both tragic victims of guards fed up with the Guild's nonsense, though Delvin grumbled about their curse.

The balding Breton complained as he drank with Vekel, Tonilia and Dirge that the Guild had all but lost everything, and that if weren't for Maven Black-Briar helping them maintain a sliver of respect they would be finished. Tonilia had rolled her eyes whilst Vekel had warned the sneak to be wary of his words as Mercer might not appreciate the sentiments, causing Tonilia to sneer that Mercer was too occupied with the forgetful redhead to notice anything else. Their conversation wore on into the late hours of the night before Tonilia and Vekel retired to bed leaving Delvin humming quietly to himself on a bar stool and Dirge happily passed out close by.

When the dawn came Mercer, last to sleep, was first up and swift in waking Cynric and Amaris with several impatient grumbles and nudges. Cynric cursed the Guild Master quite eagerly for disturbing him before catching Mercer's glower and going silent as he busied himself with checking his quivers. Amaris, though weary, was less rude about being awoken and quicker in getting ready to depart. Cynric swallowed down another grumble when Mercer instructed him to carry their few belongings, two bags of clothes and provisions.

When the three headed up to a beautiful, golden dawn and found the sky a smooth blend of pastel pinks, mauves and pale blue, and the grass damp with glistening dew, Amaris instantly filled with a spark of excitement. She paused briefly to breathe in the fresh morning air before Mercer led them on through the quiet streets of Riften. They passed a few drunks, some yawning guards, eager merchants ready to set up their stalls for the day and some new arrivals to the city as they walked. Most of the mixture of folk gave the Guild Master a wide berth and only a couple nodded their way.

Amaris looked about in surprise, though Riften had been all but void of life on the streets when she had first arrived, she had not been able to take it in or appreciate the city without its people. This morning though she was able at last to take in the beauty of the stone and wooden structures without having to be bustled on by anxious people, or having to be wary of potential enemies in the crowds. 'I could spend hours here,' she thought to herself, 'just exploring Riften, it's a wonderful place. I wonder how Solitude will compare.' She followed Mercer, who charged on impatiently without once looking back. Cynric matched her pace though he was not as intrigued by the city's beauty and instead kept rubbing his eyes, yawning and brazenly cursing mornings.

It did not take them long to reach the gates of the city and pass through to the wilderness where the stables dwelled. They were a set of rundown stone and wooden structures, the roof of the stalls looking close to collapse, big enough for only two horses, which were both contained, one asleep and one chewing lazily on the leaves of a bush growing within. There was a small cottage beside the stalls, in which Hofgrir Horse-Crusher and his assistant Shadr dwelled. The cottage itself had a few dented wooden barrels and a small, rotting, wooden cart in front of it, its windows were filthy and the wooden fencing about it was beginning to decay in places. It was just in front of it that Marcurio stood clothed in fresh looking, golden robes.

Mercer gritted his teeth and scowled at the sight of the mage, naturally he had been hoping the magic wielder would be a no show. He wondered what the Imperial's motives were for accompanying them and thought, 'does he really just want to help her or does he know something he hasn't said? This could all be a clever trap of his, he gave her the amulet after all, but she claims otherwise, doesn't remember anything about him except that he's loyal, how convenient for him.'

"So," Cynric queried Mercer as he paused to stretch his limbs, "are we taking one horse, two, a carriage or going on foot?"

"We're taking one horse from here," Mercer retorted quietly as he watched Amaris greet the mage, "then we will head east and procure another horse, and then we travel west to Whiterun."

"Alright, so who gets to ride our first horse?" Cynric asked curiously as he rubbed his palms together and eyed the rundown stalls.

"No one," Mercer answered coldly, "it can carry our belongings until we get another horse, then we ride. You're stealing it though so get to work."

The younger Breton headed over to the stalls earning a suspicious brown eyed glance from Marcurio, who immediately scowled with disapproval when he realised what the thief was up to. He turned his gaze on Mercer who met unflinchingly with a pale grey glower. "Let's start walking," the master thief ordered.

"What about Cynric?" Amaris asked as she jostled her bag over her right shoulder.

"He'll catch up," Mercer grumbled before he started walking.

Amaris, trusting the thief, started to follow. Marcurio glanced Cynric's way twice before following at last with a slight frown. 'This is going to be a long journey,' the mage thought to himself wearily, 'well if those thieves try to steal any artefacts before I can look at them my arcane fire is going to get some usage.'

Cynric stole a dark dapple grey stallion with little effort; the horse offered no protest when the thief offered him a sugar lump before leading him out of the stall. Fortunately for the thief the horse was already tacked and ready to go, the Breton suspected someone had already paid for the horse's services, and would probably be along soon to get their money's worth. He loaded the bags onto the horse and resisted the urge to ride the sturdy beast, knowing Mercer would be ill-pleased if he tired the creature out too soon. So he led him on at a brisk walk, wary of anyone catching him in the act of theft. It took only fifteen minutes before he caught up to the other three, who had wandered off the cobblestone path and were trampling through the wild grass and over boulders and rocks.

They walked amicably enough for an hour, finding themselves in the shade of gigantic mountains, thin pine trees and many branched, grey barked, golden leaved deciduous trees. There were several brooks and shallow rivers nearby, a wide variety of wildflowers and bushes, and some wary rabbits and deer that grazed not far from them, always keeping an eye out for predators. Amaris could appreciate the beauty though she was also wary of the many places to hide- up trees, in the shade of bushes, crouched behind a rock, sheltering in a cave, who knew what beasts and bandits dwelled near them?

It was not long before they reached the bottom of a shallow hill, near the top of it at the base of a mighty mountain were several structures of wood and stone, one a prominent, three storied building around which several figures were pacing.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Marcurio commented dryly, "but isn't Solitude to the east, and haven't we been going west?"

Mercer ignored him, moving stealthy towards the building instead, taking time to pause and crouch a couple of times, never once taking his eyes off the building. "Stay here," he growled at last to the three before he continued on.

Amaris watched the thief with an odd fascination whilst Marcurio folded his arms and scowled. "What's he doing?" he demanded as he turned a glare on Cynric who had pulled his brown hood up to give himself some shade from the ever brightening sun.

"What he does best," Cynric answered chirpily.

As they waited, Amaris squinted to spy Mercer who seemed to have vanished, losing himself amongst the many trees and rocks, whilst Marcurio tapped one foot impatiently and Cynric gently patted his newly acquired steed. Five minutes later and they spied Mercer returning from the far right side of the hill leading a fine looking palomino stallion. He moved quickly but quietly, unnoticed by any of the guards, and returned to them with little hassle. The horse was taller than Cynric's dapple, and more muscular, it had creamy tufts of hair along the bottom of each of its legs, almost hiding its hooves, a white blaze down its forehead to its nose, big, brown eyes, a soft coat of fine, sandy golden hair, and a long mane and tail of ivory.

"Maven won't be happy with you," Cynric commented calmly to his superior with a grin.

"If we're going to travel as far as Solitude we need the best horses," Mercer grumbled back.

"Wait Maven, Maven Black-Briar?" Marcurio demanded in disbelief. "Is that her horse?"

Mercer gave him a stony look in answer. "Not anymore," he answered icily. "Now we're going west." He looked at Amaris and snarled, "I suppose you don't remember if you can ride or not, well if you can't tough, just hold tight to the reins and try not to fall off."

Amaris looked at the golden stallion with wonder and took a step forward, slowly reaching a hand up to the beautiful beast. She allowed him to sniff her hand before she rubbed his soft nose and took another step towards him. Up close he looked even taller and she regarded his stirrup cautiously before clutching the saddle with both hands and lifting her left leg to slip her foot into the metal contraption. Cynric snickered slightly seeing how awkward she was trying to mount up, doubting the woman had ever been on a horse in her life.

When the redhead was up, Mercer mounted up behind her with much more grace, and swiftly reached for the reins. "Wait," Marcurio addressed him crossly, "there are four of us and only two horses."

"Looks like we're sharing magic boy," Cynric remarked tauntingly before he jumped onto the dapple stallion lithely.


	7. Chapter 7- In the Dark Wilds

They had followed the river for hours, pausing to rest only twice, before pushing on until just before sundown when they finally halted to set up camp. It was Marcurio who provided the flames for their fire whilst Cynric unloaded bedrolls.

"Why are there only three bedrolls?" Marcurio queried with a frown as he folded his arms and looked at the younger Breton pointedly.

Cynric grinned mockingly at the wizard before retorting, "three bedrolls for three people, surely you can conjure yourself one mage?""

"I can certainly conjure something!" Marcurio snapped back in anger before firing a small shower of white sparks out of his right palm at the thief.

Cynric jumped back with a cry of alarm, hissing as his left knee was struck, causing a minute part of his brown trousers to singe away. "You bastard!" he cursed angrily before pulling a steel dagger from his belt with his right hand.

"Enough!" Mercer growled out with a furious grey glower at the thief and mage in turn. "Finish setting up camp," he ordered Cynric before turning another glare at the mage. "You wanted to come mage," he said dryly, "you should have prepared for the trip."

Marcurio met the glare unflinchingly, his frown deepening as he let his hands drop harmlessly by his sides. "I prepared," he answered smugly, "I am a wizard after all, I just thought since I'm willing to use my powers to protect everyone that some common courtesy might have been shown."

Cynric let out a mocking snicker whilst Mercer's scowl deepened.

"It's alright," Amaris interrupted swiftly before Mercer could snap something abusive, "we can manage together." She rubbed the golden stallion known as Frost's nose affectionately before helping Cynric unroll their bedding. She placed the bedrolls close together, grouped around the brightly blazing fire whilst Cynric brought out some cheese and bread from a satchel hanging on his dapple grey.

An hour later and the sun had completely set; the group had fed and tended the horses, whose saddles had been removed, though their reins remained on, securely fastened to pieces of wood placed deep in the ground. The air had turned colder but not to the point of shivering, the skies were only mildly cloudy, showing glimpses of the cold, white stars and the moons- small, white Secunda and the swollen, red Masser. Amaris hugged her knees close as she sat on her bedroll and gazed up at the moons, they were rotting, their flesh riddled with dents, discoloured and cracked in places, they were corpses, the remainders of something greater and brighter. The redhead could not recall their names; she simply knew that they were the moons of Tamriel but that it had not always been so.

She tensed suddenly hearing a soft rattle and immediately peered out into the gloom of the night. Hearing nothing more she supposed it was just an animal prowling about, perhaps made curious by the fire, or one of the horses stirring. She let out a small yawn before pulling The Beggar Prince out of the worn, leather bag she had brought with her, the bag was on loan from Sapphire having previously dwelled forgotten under her bed.

Tired from their lengthy journey, Marcurio tugged out a shirt from his own satchel, rolled it up and placed his head down on it, ignoring Cynric's loud, taunting laugh as he did. The wizard turned on his side, away from the fire, and closed his eyes. He was thankful that his golden robes were soft and thick, perfect for the unforgiving wilderness of Skyrim, unless of course he happened to snag them on brambles or in some starved wolf's teeth.

Mercer was seated cross-legged on his own bedroll, to the right of Amaris. He eyed her book with scorn and thought sardonically, 'it will probably take her years to read that damn book.' He could recall vague details about it, for him it had not been a stimulating read, something about the Daedric Prince Namira and a man or woman named Wheedle, he had his doubts that it was even true. He watched her intently for a couple of minutes, noticing how her brow furrowed in frustration as she struggled over a word and a spark of surprise filled her mismatched eyes at a twist in the tale. Her skin was almost golden in the amber flames, making the Guild Master suspect that there might be some Imperial blood in her, though she was paler than Marcurio but then Vex was pale for an Imperial so it was still possible. Her hair hung in loose waves shining copper in the warm glow, the brown in it banished to the shadows. It was a mane of metallic fire, beautiful, alluring and perfectly matched to her fair skin and strange eyes. Mercer, who had considered her hair as dull and shabby as the rest of her, was briefly mesmerised by the way it caught in the light, it was darker than Brynjolf's, highlighted with a golden-brown orange rather than an orange-red, her auburn hues were only noticeable when they caught the light whilst the Nord thief couldn't hide his, even in the shade. Annoyed, the greying Breton turned away and surveyed their surroundings instead.

Two hours later and all of them had nodded off, Marcurio and Cynric into a deep, peaceful slumber, though the Breton's right hand remained firmly clasped on his dagger's hilt. The horses had lain down to rest too, though Frost was rigid, uncomfortable with his surroundings, his ears pricked to the distant howl of a lone wolf in the night. The fire was burning low, the wood in it thoroughly blackened as the flames grew duller and redder, and the crackling of the kindling softer.

There was a low rattle in the air causing Amaris' eyes to snap open in alarm. She tensed, held back a breath and strained to listen, unsure as to what had disturbed her. Once again she told herself that it was the fire, the horses or some wandering animal until she heard a low hiss from the darkness. She tried to peer out but could see nothing past the sleeping mound that was Mercer, on her other side was the fire, and just to her front were Cynric's mud stained boots. SNAP! She jumped upright as a stick broke in half in the fire, and looked about her surroundings with fright. Her heart was pounding madly in her chest- thump, thump, thump; it was so fast it was starting to hurt her ribcage.

"What's wrong now?" Mercer grumbled without even glancing her way.

She tensed, startled by his voice, before turning her wide eyes on him. He had not moved, one would think him still asleep. She swallowed hard and sucked in a soft breath, afraid to make any noise and give herself away. 'I'm being foolish,' she chided herself, 'it was just the fire and my voice will no more betray us than Mercer's or the flames.' She peered into the darkness and for a brief second two red slits seemed to glow back. "There's something out there!" she hissed fearfully, though she wondered as the slits vanished almost instantly if it was just the glow of the fire repeating itself.

"Don't be stupid," Mercer snarled, highly irritated to be disturbed yet again by one of her nightmares. "It was another of your dreams, I swear that bloody mage started this," he complained, "just go back to sleep."

"I can't," she choked out quietly as she turned sharply to the left as one of the horses gave a snort. The fire crackled again and Marcurio let out a grunt, causing her to turn so quickly her neck screamed in pain as she pulled a muscle.

"Sit at peace," Mercer scorned her firmly, "you're twitching like a paranoid rabbit, it's annoying and I would like to sleep."

"There's something out there," she insisted.

"Please," he sneered wearily, "I'm a master thief; no one can sneak up on me."

She sighed before lying back down on her bedroll, though she remained tense, knowing that if she kept jolting at every little sound Mercer would only get madder. 'He's right,' she told herself, 'it's just the noises of the night that's all.' Despite attempting to reassure herself she found her hands clenching the edges of her bedroll tightly.

Claws sank deep into both her feet without warning and pulled her rapidly across the ground from safety and the light. A scream of alarm escaped her as her body and face were immediately battered across rough ground and rock. Her lip was split as she started to struggle and she immediately tasted blood. She tried to kick out, jiggling her feet wildly causing her captor to stop briefly. Before she could take advantage though new hands seized her, cold, clammy, long fingers grabbed her arms and jerked her upright, pulling her along by her wrists this time, almost wrenching her arms from their sockets.

She saw flashes of carmine in the night, like slits of glowing blood staining the darkness; they flickered in and out of her vision as she bounced along the rough terrain. There was a hiss to her right, a snarl, a rattle and a clang of something metallic. When a ghoulish face of deformed grey loomed out of the darkness at her she shrieked and instinctively kicked out at it, successfully sinking her shoe into its centre causing it to squeal.

Suddenly she was plunging down, the faint white of the stars was gone, the deathly glow of the moons swallowed up and she was surrounded by thick, suffocating ebony. "No," she whimpered. This was familiar, a prison of endless darkness, occasionally but rarely interrupted with a torch that burned up too quickly and was always just out of reach. She struggled hard and fast, kicking, pulling, turning and twisting until at last she wrenched free, earning deep, bloody nail marks down her right arm for her efforts. Free, she immediately scrambled into the dark, wincing when she stumbled over a rock and banged painfully into a post of rotting wood. She swallowed down her screams, tried to shorten and quieten her breaths and prayed to whatever Aedra might be listening that her heartbeats were audible only to her.

She moved round a corner, cursing mentally as she tripped over something smooth and hard, causing a clatter to echo. Right, left, she felt along walls of dirt and stone desperately, grasped another decaying pillar and swung round it. Further into the unknown, deeper into a prison of black that the sun would never reach, could never reach. She paused when there was no sound of pursuit.

A low chatter of teeth called out to her, a strange peal of death, it was coming closer, a beast that reeked of rot and poison. There were the two specks in the dark, not red anymore, instead two dull, pinpricks of sickly yellow. She moved back instinctively, treading as softly as she could. It turned away from her, moving to the left, it could not see her. She waited with baited breath, every muscle tense, waited for it to pass her.

Pain! It flooded from behind as two sets of claws sank into her shoulders and teeth snapped at her ear. She was pulled back with the force, further and further into the damning black.

"What in Oblivion happened?" Cynric demanded as he whirled about with alarm, turning right and left and looking up and down as he reached back to grasp at an arrow.

"I don't know!" Mercer snapped for the third time as he waved his Dwarven Sword of Devouring about, it gave off a faint orange glow, not nearly enough for him to see anything with. "Damnit mage give us some light!"

Marcurio scowled in the darkness before conjuring a small, glowing white ball of Candlelight that hovered before him, bouncing about gently in the air.

"Which way?" Cynric wondered aloud. They had all jumped up at the sound of Amaris' scream but none had seen the way she had been dragged, moving in haste they had blundered after what theyhad thought were sounds of yelling in the night, though it could have been the cry of a wolf, or wildcat, or something else entirely.

Mercer, furious that something had gotten the drop on him, turned to the wizard angrily. "Can you track her?" he snarled. He loathed that he could not, with time and better light then yes, he was certain he could find her, but if they waited too long it might only be a worthless corpse they found.

Marcurio pressed two fingers to his brow and frowned, there was a spell, but of course it was hit and miss, at least for him. He specialised in Destruction magic, anything outside of that and well... He thought of the redhead, Foxhair to him, apparently Amaris to everyone else. It was an Illusion spell, which cost little magic to use though it drained upon one's powers so long as it was in usage, easy for many mages but not for the Imperial. He gritted his teeth, pointed out one hand and murmured the words as he thought of her. 'Find her,' he willed the spell, 'show me a path to her, show me the way.' A stream of blue tinged, white, fiery light spurted out of his fingers and onto the ground. For a moment it was just a large blob of light but as he willed more of his power into it and thought of the redheaded woman it extended outwards into a winding path. "Quick," he urged the others before he started to run, chasing after the light.

They ran for what felt like an hour though it was half of that, staggering over rocks, through clumps of wildflowers, around trees and over uneven mounds of earth. Only Mercer noticed the faint, drying spatters of blood shining faintly on blades of grass that suggested they were going the right way. The path of light was sputtering again, vanishing and then spurting out again as Marcurio's magic began to run out.

Cynric looked at the mage anxiously and hoped that they were nearly there. He halted suddenly, his boots skidding on the muck as he almost stumbled into a large pit in the ground.

"Here," Marcurio choked out through pants as the path sparked briefly down the pit before vanishing.

The three halted at the edges of the pit and peered down into it with uncertainty. It was too dark to guess its depth and it was clear that Marcurio had no strength or power left to conjure a light to aid them. Cynric crouched down briefly, listening for any telltale sounds from below but there was nothing. He stood upright again, plucked out an arrow, placed it along his bow and fired down. They listened patiently for the thunk of the arrowhead striking the earth and both thieves were pleased when it came within a matter of seconds.

"Deep enough," Cynric murmured, "but it wouldn't cripple us, of course there are other problems, where does it go, what's down there and how would we get out again?"

"Stay here," Mercer growled before he sheathed his dwarven blade and jumped.

"He's crazy," Marcurio scorned.

The Guild Master landed in a crouch with minimal noise, he did not wait to see if anything had heard him but instead pulled out his Dwarven Sword of Devouring and Chillrend- a blue-tinged glowing sword of glass- swiftly and turned around. There was nothing, he used the glow of his blades to scan his surroundings, he was in a tunnel, probably once attached to a mine or Dwemer city, it had long been abandoned. He glimpsed a spatter of blood on the gorund and began a quiet pursuit. Hearing the sound of feet up ahead he did something no one in the Guild knew he could and melted into the shadows, immediately becoming invisible, taking the telltale glow of his swords with him.

Without any light the thief was forced to rely on sound alone to help him, it was not the first time he had been forced to do so and he doubted it would be the last. The form ahead was not human, orc or elf, he knew that immediately. It was skulking, a stealthy thing by nature, something as accustomed to the shadows as he was, perhaps more so. He heard a dribble, something liquid hitting the ground in three, four, five drops. 'Blood,' he guessed, 'if the thing bleeds.' He took a couple of steps forward; he was three steps away from the thing. It was hunched over, a weapon in its right hand, it had no armour save worn, leather greaves on its arms that creaked slightly.

The thief gauged where the thing's head was and swung his dwarven blade. He struck true immediately severing the head at the neck as his invisibility was ended with his movement. The body slumped to the floor awkwardly as the head thumped onto the ground and rolled twice. Mercer paused with a grim satisfaction, it was good to let his weapon taste blood again but it was a hollow victory, there had been no fight after all. His scowl deepened as in the light of his blades he realised he was looking at the corpse of a Falmer, easily the most loathed creature in Skyrim.

'Brazen things,' he thought as he continued to creep along, 'just seizing an opportunity, probably knew the girl was the easiest to take. I should have heard them, or at least smelled them, how did she?' He shook his head dismissively. 'She didn't,' he tried to assure himself, 'it was a coincidence, it had to have been, that scrawny brat couldn't possibly have better senses than me.'

He wove round two corners, and down a path to the right, following the Falmer's bloodstains. Hearing a sound from ahead, he halted again, instinctively bracing himself for another foe. His nose wrinkled in disgust as the fresh odour of vomit mixed with blood reached it. Breathing, heavy low breathing, he could make it out now, just in front, roughly ten feet away. He raised Chillrend to his face; there were only two beings here, himself and one other.

"I told you," Amaris rasped, "but you didn't believe me." She was crouched on a rock trying to sink into the wall behind her, her chin was stained with a dribble of vomit, and her hands saturated in blood. Her right hand clutched a crude looking sword that was soaked with blood, she held it outwards defensively as she looked at the thief with a feral gaze.

He noticed at last the two corpses on the ground, a pair of Falmer, one killed by a lucky stab at the heart; the other hacked at repeatedly until it had finally collapsed. For a moment he was impressed, though he purposely did not show it as he looked back to her. She bore scratches, deep grooves on her shoulders, a few fresh bumps and bruises but nothing fatal.

"You didn't believe me," she repeated accusingly.

He scowled at her. "You had two nightmares," he reminded her, "my apologies that you weren't crying wolf a third time," he added dryly.

She shook her head miserably before standing at last, clutching the sword so tightly her palm hurt as its bumpy handle dug into her. It had been the creature's own folly that it had left its weapon sheathed thinking to wound her with claws alone, she had grasped at it, pulled it out in desperation and swung. The smell of their corpses was nauseating and looking at them had her heaving as her body threatened to throw up once more.

"Unless you want to do some sightseeing I suggest you move quicker," Mercer growled at her.

She gave him an angry glance before standing upright and wiping the vomit from her chin with her free hand.

"I came didn't I?" he snapped at her, angry at her glance.

She nodded as she started to walk. He turned and she followed his lead, keeping so close to him he feared she would bang into him. "Thank you," she said hoarsely, wondering if she would ever find the way out without him.

The thief said nothing, he led them back to the open roof of the pit without incident, moving quickly and quietly, using his senses and swords to guide them until they finally glimpsed the distant stars. "Throw down a rope," he commanded quickly.

Marcurio almost jumped with surprise at his voice whilst Cynric got to work swiftly, setting down his bag and tugging a rope out of it. The Breton was thankful he had had the sense to grab his bag before they had started their pursuit. "Can you make some light wizard?" he questioned gruffly as he clutched one end of the rope in one hand and looked about uselessly in the dark for something to tie it too.

With effort Marcurio summoned another ball of light, this one smaller and shakier than the first. It was enough though, highlighting the grey edges of a tall and sturdy looking tree just a couple of feet away. Hastily, the thief tied the rope around the tree and tugged it twice to make sure it was secure before he threw the other end into the pit.

"Drop the sword," Mercer commanded Amaris as he sheathed Chillrend and grasped the end of the rope.

Amaris shook her head defiantly and clutched the handle tightly in one hand. "I can carry it," she insisted.

"I don't care," Mercer growled back, "it's poisonous, leave it here."

She frowned and retorted angrily, "I'm not clumsy enough to stab the wrong person with it."

"Just leave it," he snapped, "and come here."

Her frown deepened before she crouched and placed the sword down carefully, too cautious to throw it and make noise that might draw unwanted attention to them. She stepped towards the thief and he immediately stepped towards her, closing the gap between them. He lifted the end of the rope and knotted it about her waist carefully. She flinched feeling him so close but did not protest, though the rope was tight. "Take in your hands," he commanded her as he yanked the rest of it. She obeyed, reaching up to grab it in both hands before Marcurio and Cynric began to pull. She was bumped twice against the wall and her palms reddened but it was worth it as she was pulled back to the surface, aided up by Cynric's strong grasp.

"There now," the Breton commented cheerfully, "you're back with us. Tough work, maybe we should leave Mercer until morning," he dared to jest quietly before helping her to unwind the rope from her waist.

Mercer did not wrap the rope about himself but instead pressed his feet into the walls and clung to the rope with both hands, scaling up himself. It took longer but he made it up with less bumps that Amaris, and made a point of scowling at Marcurio, causing the wizard to withdraw his helpful hand. Cynric pulled the rope back up and went to the tree to retrieve the rest of it as Mercer stood upright and growled at the mage, "keep the light going so we can get back to camp."

Mercer did not need a path of light to find their way back to the horses and fire, he led the way with ease leaving Cynric to take Amaris' hand reassuringly and pull her along whilst Marcurio focused on keeping the Candlelight spell going until they were safely back to the campfire. The horses were awake and restless but thankfully still secured to the ground by their reins, Cynric released Amaris to tend them, soothing them with sugar cubes whilst Marcurio resurrected the fire with a quick blast of crimson orange sparks.

"What happened?" the mage demanded when they were seated once more, clustered around Amaris who shivered once before turning her stare on the fire.

"They grabbed me from the camp, horrible, twisted, grey creatures," the woman confessed hoarsely, her throat sore and raw from her vomiting.

"Falmer," Mercer spat out, "they were Falmer."

Amaris looked at him briefly before continuing on. "They took me down into that pit. I got free but they found me again and attacked, I got one of their swords and attacked back, then Mercer found me." She turned to look to him gratefully before glancing from Cynric to Mercer. "That's it," she said softly, "I don't know why they did it."

"They're Falmer," Cynric spat out hatefully, "they don't need a reason. They stalk and attack people who are in caves or ruins-"

"Not in the open," Mercer interrupted coldly, "not usually."

Cynric shrugged. "They like the dark; they probably ventured out from that pit for food, saw us and took an opportunity."

"No," Mercer disagreed with a solemn shake of his head, "the fire and our number should have put them off."

"They're bold, bloodthirsty creatures," Marcurio spoke up coldly, "it's entirely possible they didn't think they just sensed us and acted."

Mercer scowled at him before shaking his head again. "No," he answered flatly, "but since they cannot or will not talk and there are none around we're not going to find out," he added sardonically. "Now, enough of my sleep has been disturbed, Cynric, you stay guard for two hours then wake me." Without waiting for a response the Guild Master lay back down on his bedroll and closed his eyes.

Amaris looked at Mercer reproachfully before turning her gaze back on the fire, 'how can he just go to sleep after what happened?' she wondered in disbelief. 'There could be more of them out of there, and who knows how many?' She shuddered at the thought and knew that she would not be going back to sleep. 'Falmer,' she pondered their name, 'such horrible things, heartless and sadistic, they like to hurt things,' she recalled, 'hurt people until they bleed and scream, make them beg, on and on, until there's no more screaming, then at last they kill.' She swallowed down a mouthful of bile and tried to shake off the memories, if she had encountered such creatures before she simply did not want to know. She recalled Mercer telling her that if she suppressed her nightmarish memories she suppressed herself. 'Tomorrow when it's light,' she thought bravely to herself, 'I'll think on it then and let the worst come if it wants to but not tonight.'

Cynric sat up alert for two hours, he kept glancing Amaris' way in between surveying the camp, looking to the horses and listening for anything out of the ordinary. Marcurio stayed up with them for twenty minutes before exhaustion finally took him, a side effect from using magic he was unaccustomed to. The jail breaker considered talking to the girl but he feared awakening Mercer and earning a chastisement so he stayed quiet until it was time to awaken the Guild Master. He nudged him gently, earning a grunt and a glower. Mercer said nothing; he just sat up, stretched briefly and nodded once to Cynric who then curled up on his own bedroll.

Mercer looked to Amaris, guessing that she had not moved since he had gone to sleep. "You will be too tired to travel," he chided her when she looked his way.

"I can't sleep," she retorted softly, "how could I?"

"Because I'm watching," he replied frostily, "nothing will sneak past me, not when I'm paying attention for it." He scowled, furious that something had sneaked past him.

"I don't doubt that," she said sincerely, "but I still cannot sleep." She turned from him, busying herself with her satchel instead; he almost cursed when she produced her wretched book and began reading it.

He moved to her quietly, purposely making a little noise so that she was not startled and awoke the other pair with a scream. Once he was seated beside her, a little too close to the fire for his liking, he reached for the book. "Give it here," he growled at her, "I'm not going to watch you struggle through that for the umpteenth time. Now is as good a time as any to teach you."

"What about the Falmer?" she queried as she looked over her shoulder anxiously, fearing a sneak attack with both their backs turned.

"I'll hear them," Mercer growled back as he shook his open hand impatiently.

Amaris frowned a little but gave him the book. "Don't even think of throwing it in the fire," she remarked sternly.

'How did she know?' the thief wondered curiously as he opened it at the first page.


	8. Chapter 8- A Break In Ruins

In the pale golden light of a breezy midday the group arrived in Ivarstead, a small town that earned its business through pilgrims who stopped there before continuing on their lengthy journey up 7000 steps to the top of the Throat of the World. Mercer had contemplated simply bypassing the milling town but Cynric had subtly suggested that one night of a 'safe and comfortable sleep' might not be so bad, and that they never knew what treasures pilgrims might be carrying. It had been three nights since the Falmer attack, three nights of taking turns at watching, three nights of restless snatches of sleep and listening to Amaris' frightened groans when she nodded off from exhaustion.

Mercer was ignorant to the picturesque stone and thatched buildings, the beautiful variations of plant life from tall, golden leafed trees and long leafed firs, to colourful wildflowers and brittle bushes, and the loudly bubbling river with its gushing rapids and pleasantly tumbling, silver waterfall. The town was beautiful to behold, a quaint setting, it would have been lost to the wild mountains if not for the numerous influx of travellers eager to rest before they started an adventurous climb to the Throat of the World. The attraction of High Hrothgar, the castle of the Greybeards that sat atop this mighty mountain drew plenty of business and coin as a variety of races came, some out of curiosity or a sense of adventure, others seeking to crack the mystery of the Voice and others simply to learn.

Marcurio glanced in the direction of the stone bridge that led to the start of the path to the lengthy 7000 steps a couple of times, he had heard many tales of High Hrothgar but never been privileged enough to see it with his own eyes. The artefact seeking scholar in him was curious as to what the Greybeards might know and share but he knew if he even suggested such an extensive trip he was liable to be cursed at by both thieves.

"Stables, food, drink," Cynric said bluntly as he led the way towards wooden stalls lingering on the outskirts of the town. The Breton appreciated the scenic beauty as much as his superior, and treaded on several budding purple flowers without a care as he walked. The stalls were rundown and vacant with only one baffled looking male farmhand nearby to tend to the horses. Cynric patiently offered him some coin with the promise of more when they returned to collect the horses providing they were, as he put it, 'not halfway to becoming someone's dinner'.

"This is why I prefer the city," the young thief grumbled as he glanced about the town with displeasure, spying out the only inn, "less inbred idiots and more coin to profit."

"I hardly think they're inbred," Marcurio retorted frostily with a scowl.

"The mountain will eat you! Watch the mountain!"

They all glanced over at the strange calls and spied a beggar Nord man wandering about the town agitatedly, zigzagging near the edge of the river and looking about himself rapidly with wild, dark eyes. Mercer looked away with disinterest; the man clearly hadn't a coin to his name, whilst Amaris filled with pity, and Cynric looked to Marcurio pointedly and grinned with derision. "No, not inbred at all," the thief remarked dryly as he started walking towards the inn.

Though Amaris' stomach was growling with hunger pangs she was loath to leave the golden kissed beauty of the wild town, it was charming in the sunlight, a small hub of activity, she spied Argonians, Bretons, Imperials, and even an Orc heading over the bridge to the steps that led up to High Hrothgar. There were families, religious groups, bumbling scholars trying to juggle books and scrolls, shady looking wizards, that walked with raised hoods and paused to glance about suspiciously, common travellers with horses and carts, and eager traders with trinkets to sell. It was fascinating to the young woman and she wondered the story of each being heading towards the towering mountain. "What's up there?" she queried with interest as she turned her gaze up to the behemoth of rock, soil and snow. The top was lost to the wispy white clouds, a mystery to all but those already up there, it made her all the more curious.

"A bunch of bearded men," Mercer grumbled as he gave her a rough shove towards the inn. Out here the pickings were disappointing but within he hoped to find some rich travellers seeking respite.

Cynric chuckled at this and glanced over his shoulder to comment, "the Greybeards, masters of the Voice."

"Voice?" Amaris echoed. She wondered from the odd looks the three gave her if it was something she should know, perhaps something everyone should know.

Cynric smiled and shook his head helplessly. "The language of dragons, it's a powerful thing," he replied vaguely before turning to open the inn door.

The wooden sign hanging on a post before the building read in faded grey letters outlined in black paint- Vilemyr Inn, in largely good condition it was a wooden building with a thatched roof, dusty, glass paned windows, ivy clinging to one of the walls and a long, wooden porch, it was two storeys tall and had a crooked bench sitting outside its left side. Amaris followed after Cynric and was closely followed by Mercer and finally Marcurio, who was eager to explore the town, particularly the Nordic stone ruins that lingered on a hill that was nestled as an island in the wider part of one of the rivers.

A string twanged jarringly on the bard's lute, she flushed slightly, bowed her head and immediately began strumming a quiet, slow song. None of the patrons seemed to notice and continued drinking, eating, talking and bartering. The bar was busy enough, with a variety of small groups, some clustered families, others traders, and others friends, a couple were local though most were pilgrims passing through. Inside the inn was respectable enough, gloomy, it had several wooden chairs, stools and tables, faded and torn animal skins for rugs, ivory horns filled with burning oil hanging on the wooden beams and posts to give light to the room, and barrels pushed clumsily against a wall. Behind the bar and above it were drying herbs, wine casks, freshly killed rabbits and pheasants, wheels of cheese, cabbages, leeks and tomatoes. A few bent and tattered menus sat behind a beer mug stained with drying foam.

Cynric stopped to look at the bard inquisitively, he pushed down his brown cowl and a smirk broke out across his face as he took a step towards her. "Well, far from home aren't you?" he addressed her brightly.

She glanced up at him with startled, pale brown eyes and Amaris was surprised to see the terror within them. She had not imagined Cynric could cause such a reaction in a woman. 'He's a thief,' she reminded herself calmly, 'he probably frightens women all the time. Stupid to think otherwise just because he's been nice to you.'

"I don't know what you mean," the bard answered nervously. It was a lie, both Marcurio and Amaris knew that, it was obvious in her face, and the quiver in her fingers that caused each note she played to shake.

"Sidi, Svinely, oh come now, what was it?" Cynric remarked merrily.

"Pardon?" she croaked as she tried in vain to strum a decent song. Her palms were starting to sweat and her fingers to jumble on the strings, the song was a whiny mess and a few patrons were glancing at her now in annoyance. "My name is Lynly," she said, trying to sound firm and failing, "Lynly Star-Sung."

"Beautiful name," Cynric mused, "but it's not yours."

"It is," she retorted stubbornly, "you're mistaken that's all."

Mercer sighed impatiently, out of the mixture of patrons in the bar he had spotted just three worth investigating for goods. They were a meagre choice, no threat to him and probably only carrying crystals and rhinestones meant to mimic jewels, brass shone to resemble gold, gaudy jewellery and worthless garments of coloured cotton. Nothing new, nothing valuable and nothing dazzling, the Guild Master was already bored and the smell coming from the kitchen did not make him feel any happier about staying.

"Cini?" Cynric ventured another guess. "Kinley? Either way I know you were to be Miss Black-Briar but that all went awry, didn't it?"

The woman immediately paled and her hand went limp at last, letting conversation, debates and gossip pollute the air instead of soothing music. "Don't tell him," she begged suddenly, "please."

'Black-Briar?' Amaris wondered. 'Could it be the same? How many males are in the family?' She wondered if Cynric was toying with the woman or had been sincerely ignorant in his attempts to guess her name. She hoped it was the latter but was unsure as he remained grinning despite the woman's obvious despair.

She was a buxom, youthful beauty with plump, pink lips, long legs almost lost beneath a brown peasant skirt, slender arms, an ample chest rising above her cropped, white gypsy top and a long, honeyed bob that had two braids plaited in it. Sweat shone on her brow, dirt smudged her cheeks, her nails were broken and the sleeves of her top stained, she was a working woman but there was enough effort to her make-up, time taken to style her hair and a certain care as to the way she stood that suggested it had not always been so.

Her pale brown irises rolled to Mercer with uncertainty and desperation. "I know you're thieves and in league with the Black-Briars," she addressed the Guild Master, "but please don't tell him, he'll have me killed."

Mercer scowled, irked by her mentioning of the thieves' tie to the Black-Briar family. He folded his arms and looked at her pointedly. "You don't interest us Svidi," he snarled.

Cynric snapped the fingers of his right hand together triumphantly. "Svidi, that's it!"

She flinched at Cynric's voice stating her true name a little too loudly for her liking.

"Beautiful, sweet voiced Svidi," Cynric mused, "you were wasted on Sibbi."

"Svidi and Sibbi," Marcurio remarked dryly, "now that has a ring to it." He was looking just as impatient as Mercer, some tavern wench had little concern for him, ties to the Black-Briars or not. The wizard was anxious to satiate his thirst with some wine and whilst he had no problems with neglecting the thieves and getting himself some he did not want to be so rude to Amaris.

"He'll find me," she babbled.

"He recalls you as having long, flowing, black hair," Mercer retorted sardonically, "I don't think the idiot knows one woman from another."

Svidi's eyes widened a little at this and her cheeks darkened as she wondered just briefly if she was truly so forgettable. "He killed my brother," she said hotly, "he was defenceless, he confronted him over his obvious affair with that bitch Svana," she snarled through gritted teeth, "and Sibbi stabbed him. I had to flee but he will want to kill me too."

Mercer shrugged nonchalantly. "Not my concern, we however have no interest in you." He turned from her at last and headed to the bar. Marcurio looked to Amaris and made a gesture for her to follow the thief and she complied.

The three ordered drinks and food whilst Cynric remained chatting to the bard. They sat near the door at a round table with a wonky leg, bored and impatient, save for Amaris who was quietly happy to be amongst people and shelter. Here with the crowds she felt safe, confident that the Falmer would not risk venturing here.

"I'd like to look at those ruins," Marcurio spoke up at last as he finished his second goblet of spiced wine.

"Go ahead," Mercer retorted coldly, "but if you get stuck in a trap and start dying slowly don't expect help."

"I don't," Marcurio answered sharply, "and I am quite experienced with Nordic traps, don't worry."

"I don't," came the flat response.

"Be careful," Amaris said sincerely, she had seen the ruins too, a dome of strange stone structures, she knew it was merely the top of something deeper and bigger. Something down in the dark where only the dead and the monsters wandered. She suppressed a shudder and sipped at a spoonful of tomato soup. For a day and a half she had had a dull, repetitive headache, which grew sharper and more unpleasant when she dared to delve into her memories of the Falmer. It was at Mercer's insistence that she had allowed herself to consider the possibility of having met the creatures before. It had come to her in flashes, some of deadened colour, others bright, painful and loud, they were the chatterers and hissers in the dark, they had made her bleed, scream and sob, lashed at her with whips, stung her with spikes. They had been keepers and prisoners. Mercer had scorned this, he knew the Falmer liked to capture and torture people but for six years, no it was unthinkable they would let a captive live that long. She could recall nothing else, just the burning, lingering pain, the wails of other prisoners, the rotting, hoarse laughter, the probing fingers, and those terrible, burning, taunting eyes that were blind and yet seemed so aware.

Her nails raked through her hair as it became matted with the sudden drenching of sweat she had from head to toe. It was a cold, sticky sweat coupled by goose bumps and a slight shake of her head.

"Amaris?" Marcurio looked at her with worry. He had loudly scolded Mercer just yesterday for pushing her so aggressively with memories that were obviously terrible for her, and had earned his own verbal abuse from the thief in response. In the end Amaris and Cynric had played mediator, Amaris agreed with Mercer that she needed to confront what memories she could, for even the dark ones might shed some light on who and what she was.

She forced herself to smile at the mage and shake her head dismissively as she let one hand drop to the table and grasped the wooden spoon with her other. She did not want to be the shaking, sobbing, fragile flower on this trip, the damsel to be rescued. "It's fine," she assured, "please take care in the ruins and don't...don't be in them after sundown." She knew it was silly to say, the ruins would be dark regardless of the time of day, but if it was night and he survived them he might not survive the journey back to the inn. A stupid notion she knew, it was a busy town after all and there were probably plenty of pilgrims travelling at night and torches lit to guide them but she could not shake the fear that Falmer would return in the night regardless of where they were or who with.

"I won't," Marcurio assured, equally miffed to be thought of as vulnerable or weak. 'I'm a great wizard,' he thought moodily, 'but I suppose she's just forgotten the strength of my magic, that's all, and my many abilities. It will come back to her and she will realise she was foolish to worry about me.'

They dined and drank for an hour longer before Marcurio finally rose to head to the ruins and Mercer stood to begin a hopeful prowl of the bar patrons. During that hour several more groups had come into the building and clustered around the bar. Cynric remained with Svidi; both of them were seated at a small table now, sharing a large bottle of mead and another round one of brandy. Amaris glanced over at them a couple of times, she knew what Cynric was doing, noting how he caught the blonde's gaze, ensnaring it in his own several times, how he reached across the table to grip her knuckles lightly before letting go and laughed at her feeble attempts at humour. 'Well she is pretty,' Amaris thought sincerely, 'and a man has his needs.' She turned her stare on Mercer, he moved so stealthily and quietly no one noticed and not even she could see the purses of coin and handful of jewels he thieved. 'Though not all men or their needs are the same,' she thought calmly.

For half an hour Amaris remained seated by herself studying the patrons that came and went with interest. She picked up something about each one, noting how a Bosmer seemed rather anxious and did not linger for long, a female Breton who favoured brandy, a pair of Khajit who were equally fascinating and repulsive to most, carrying shady wares that Mercer had a slight interest in, and three Nords who were trying to pretend to simply be on a tour but had another agenda. After half an hour Cynric, Svidi and Mercer headed to her table at the same time.

"Svidi," Cynric began.

"Lynly," the bard corrected quickly with a nervous look about the tavern, "it's Lynly here."

"Right, Lynly," Cynric said with a smirk, "wants to take us on a walk about Ivarstead since it would be better than sitting here all day."

"The countryside is beautiful," the blonde enthused, "and peaceful, yes we get pilgrims stopping through but it's nowhere near as busy as Riften."

"More's the pity," Cynric lamented. "Anyway, let's go before the weather changes as it so frequently does."

Amaris stood up to go; glancing briefly at Mercer, going on a peaceful amble did not seem like something he would be keen on. 'Spying potential places to steal from might be though,' she thought to herself sardonically as he frowned at Cynric but started to follow Lynly's lead anyway.

Outside it was chillier but sunnier than it had been, the sky bore only a few wispy, white clouds and was a pale, frosty blue, there would be ice later but until now the air remained dry but brisk. Amaris hugged Cynric's navy blue coat close, thankful for its warmth even if its musky smell was somewhat off-putting. They walked for close to an hour, taking in the few buildings that made up Ivarstead as well as the natural beauty of the terrain surrounding it, there were colourful flowers, cautious rabbits and even one slender copper brown fox to be seen, as well as brooks, pools, and the river.

"You can bathe out here when the weather's warmer," Lynly commented as she gestured to one of the pools into which a small waterfall poured, "it's especially lovely at night the way the moons hit it."

Amaris looked at the sparkling pool and foaming waterfall in awe imagining how beautiful it must look with the white and carmine glow of the moons reflecting of it, whilst Mercer rolled his eyes and scowled impatiently. The Guild Master had come on the tour for two reasons, to keep an eye on Amaris, and to see if there were any potential marks about the town. Unsurprisingly, he was disappointed, most of the pilgrims looked poor or moderately wealthy, and the few that were wealthy had evidently had the sense not to carry anything valuable on them.

After the tour was down, they went to Fellstar Farm to barter for some supplies before returning to the inn. Cynric suggested drink, food and an early night, as they were all tired from taking watches or simply not sleeping properly as was the case for Amaris, and he knew Mercer would have them up at first light to move on again. So they occupied a large round table and Cynric bought them a round of drinks. Lynly began to strum her lute and sing, encouraging some of the livelier patrons to join in.

As the day wore on, Amaris soon nodded off at their table and remained asleep until Cynric roused her. "Better lying down in a dry bed," he told her brightly.

The redhead looked at him dopily for a moment as she rubbed her eyes with both hands and sat upright, she had been sandwiched between the pair of thieves, her head resting against Cynric's shoulder at an uncomfortable angle. She rubbed a crank in her neck before pushing back some of her hair and turning to the window behind them. The sun had just descended; she had been asleep for almost two hours. She yawned and looked back to the thieves; concerned she glanced about the tavern and then frowned. "Where's Marcurio?" she queried, wondering if he had already retired to bed.

"Still exploring probably," Cynric answered without concern.

"What?" Amaris looked at him with alarm and then turned round to fully look out the window. "It's almost dark!" she hissed alarm.

"And?" Mercer queried dryly, knowing full well what she was implying.

"And he's out there! He said he would be back before sundown, he could be in trouble!" she exclaimed worriedly as she turned round and looked to Cynric impatiently, waiting for him to let her out of the table.

"Or he just lost track of time since he's probably underground in the barrow," Cynric suggested calmly. "He's a great wizard," he said mockingly, "he can look after himself."

Amaris shook her head stubbornly. "No, not if there are Falmer. We have to find him."

"He's a grown man and he knows the risks," Mercer said coldly, "and we are not his babysitters, let him find his own way back, it's hardly a great distance." The thief scowled abrasively, he was weary, thoroughly annoyed at the lack of potential profit in the miserable mountain village and angrily worried that perhaps Amaris was nothing more than one of the many unfortunates captured by Falmer. 'Perhaps she's worthless,' he thought to himself moodily, 'and then this journey is nothing but a waste of time of coin and time. Yet the mage said she was gone six years, departed with people not those ugly underground bastards, and if she was with the Falmer all that time why did they let her live? No, there's something more and I will find out what,' he vowed to himself.

"He could be trapped," Amaris snapped as she looked at him with a flare of defiance in her mismatched eyes, "I'll go alone if I have to."

"Very wise," Mercer sneered as he met her glower unflinchingly with his own icy stare, "and probably wind up as Falmer dinner without anyone ever knowing."

Amaris shuddered and grasped her skull with her left hand as she caught a flashback of something burning, an obnoxious smell, it had been rare and yet all too common for her liking. She had dreaded finding out the source, hearing them slaver and squabble over it was bad enough. She had known it was food to them whatever it was but she did not want it to be food to her. One day they had given her no choice. She shook her head and let her hand drop, this was not the time for that kind of memory. 'When will be?' she wondered scornfully. 'I just want to keep running from those memories, they're too horrible.'

"What are you thinking?" Mercer demanded, he had spied the revulsion in her stare and knew it had nothing to do with him. 'She hides things,' he thought suspiciously, 'perhaps she hides everything and this is all a lie, but I would know if it was, no one can hide or lie better than a thief and she's not one of us.' His piercing stare seemed to become sharper as if he was looking not just at her but inside her. Every thought about the woman was a contradiction, each potential idea coupled with an argument, nothing about her made sense, she was worse than any puzzle, lock, trap or riddle he had come across, the first enigma he could not crack and it frustrated him almost to madness.

"I'll tell you," Amaris retorted boldly, "after we find Marcurio."

Mercer scowled as he swallowed down an angry snarl. 'So this is the game she wants to play,' he thought in annoyance, 'chop and change our agreement to suit herself and keep her and that stupid mage safe. I should have never allowed him to come along; he's nothing but a pain in the ass.' He purposefully did not bother to remind himself that it was Marcurio who had led them to Amaris when the Falmer had taken her.

"Let's go then," Cynric remarked wearily as he stood up from the table, mentally cursing Marcurio just as much as Mercer was. He cast Lynly a fleeting stare when she looked his way and gave her a friendly wave before leading the way to the door. He hoped that she would not find herself occupied with another visiting male's attention while he was gone, luring one with her sweet voice, golden locks and gentle, doe eyed stare. She could portray the innocent bard nicely but the thief was well aware of the fiery townswoman she had once been and he wanted to bring that woman back if he could, even if it was just in private.

Amaris followed anxiously, sticking close to the thief's heels until they were outside. Then she suddenly tensed up, whirling about in alarm, jumping at every noise and noticing immediately how few torches there were to light up Ivarstead. The darkness was thick, the air chill and fresh as frost began to glimmer along the grass, the gushing of the river was no longer a soothing solace but now in the night it was a distraction, a potential cover of wild noise for the night time predators.

"Being jumpy only attracts attention," Mercer scolded her dryly without looking back, "and it will do nothing to save you."

Cynric scowled at the back of his superior's head in disapproval before tugging out a dagger from a leather case at his belt and turning to Amaris. He held it out to her handle first and said gently, "here, you take it."

Amaris accepted it quickly, gripping it tightly with her right hand. She had learned a little from Sapphire and Brynjolf about wielding and using daggers, not enough that could consider herself a confident fighter but enough that she would not be clumsy with the thing. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

Cynric nodded with a small smile. "Walk between us," he suggested, "and stay close. You'll be safe though, the Falmer don't come up where there are people."

Amaris looked to the black silhouette resting on a hill ominously. "What about barrows?" she wondered aloud. "Do they dwell down there where people do not go?"

"Deeper," Mercer snarled, "there are other things to occupy barrows." He led the way and Amaris hastened to follow him, stretching her thin limbs to their limit as he moved with a surprising grace and exhausting speed. The thief did not even seem to glance down once in the limited light, somehow just knowing where the hidden rocks, debris of broken sticks, used horseshoes, shattered phials and forgotten husks of rotting food lay along the paths and the edges of it. He broke from the path, plunging further in the shadowy night, heading directly for the barrow.

It was on the outskirts of the town, deliberately abandoned and yet it seemed no one had been able to ignore it enough to build further away from it. In the inn there had been many rumours about it, talk of treasures and ghosts, but no one seemed certain as to what it was for or why it had been built where it was. It was simply one of many in Skyrim, an ancient ruin to fascinate scholars and treasure hunters, be frowned upon or viewed as hallowed by the religious, embraced as a tourist site by the greedy, and ignored by the common folk as yet another meaningless structure of stone.

The closer they got the bigger the dome of stone seemed to grow, there were just two torches hanging by its entrance with pale yellow flames, their source either a brave village member or a fool who had wandered in. Amaris swallowed down the dread building within her, telling herself to be brave or at least calm. 'Marcurio is probably just caught in a trap,' she thought to herself, 'that's all and the only thing wounded about him will be his pride. We'll get him out and go back to the inn.'

She looked to the black entry with concern when they halted so Mercer could lift one of the torches; he held it up to the ebony shapes in the dome showing them to be gaps, perhaps windows. The guild master led the way under the stone and round it to its inner sanctum where an old wooden door stood, tattered cobwebs swaying harmlessly at its top corners indicating a recent entry. He stepped up to the door, inspected it briefly and then gripped the iron handle and pushed. It gave way with just a brief resistance, another indication that someone had been here not that long ago.


	9. Chapter 9- Dangerous Sanctuary

Inside they found a shamble of rotting ruins, the air was dry and musty, unpleasant on the tongue and tingling in the chest, it held the faint, sweet odour of death on it, unpleasant and horribly familiar to each of them. Mercer led them on past empty, decaying chests, dusty, dented goblets, under cobwebs and through stone arches and heavy wooden doors. He paused on several occasions to look about warily, grumbling about 'obvious traps' and warning Amaris and Cynric to be careful.

"Cynric, pull the two middle levers," he commanded as they entered a larger chamber with four rusting levers set by a door.

Cynric frowned as he stepped forward carefully, moving as silently as a whisper. He pulled them swiftly as a low groan echoed through the chamber. Amaris glanced about suspiciously, it was not a Falmer, she was assured by that much but then what? The door clicked open harmlessly and Cynric led the way through, unperturbed by the sound.

The younger thief reached a door that was locked, he grinned, glad at last to have some form of challenge but frowned again when he realised how simple the aged lock was. It was no ancient relic but something a little more recent, perhaps fifty years old at most he guessed, added by people either trying to keep treasure from greedy tourists or seal of a dangerous chamber, or perhaps trying to keep something in.

"If it's still locked Marcurio might not have come this way," Amaris dared to suggest, "or if he did, someone else locked the door." She looked to Mercer who ignored her and waited impatiently for Cynric to open the door.

"Probably another grave robber," Cynric commented brightly, "nothing the wizard can't handle."

Amaris shook her head scornfully as Cynric forced the lock open with ease. "He's not a grave robber," she retorted quietly as Mercer hurried forward.

"Pressure plates," Mercer growled out a warning, "don't blunder onto them." He looked back at Amaris pointedly, his eyes glowing fiercely in the light of torch, shining like steel. "Walk slow and follow my steps," he commanded.

Cynric gestured for Amaris to go ahead of him, taking care to watch where she stepped as he did. She clutched his dagger tightly with one hand and kept a careful gaze on Mercer's feet. The ground was cold even through the soles of her boots, cracked in places and covered in a thick layer of dust and the dried corpses of insects; it was a wonder in the dark beneath the grime. Amaris wondered as she walked carefully if Marcurio had fallen victim to a trap. It seemed unlikely given he came across as intelligent and observant but, she reminded herself, even the wiliest of people could still be victims.

"Get out!" She looked up with wild eyes at the voice, through iron bars a strange form glowed a ghostly, blue tinged white. His eyes were translucent and white with rage, his hands see through, trembling and raised to attack, his origin was impossible to tell, he did not seem solid or even alive. Before Amaris could take in anymore he ran, causing a low echo of footsteps to sound about the tunnels. 'Footsteps?' she thought dumbly. 'Ghosts don't make footsteps.'

"Well our cover's blown," Cynric commented dryly, "and evidently there is more than us down here, but we knew that."

"Must you state the obvious?" Mercer snarled irately. "Are you narrating for someone?"

Cynric grinned sheepishly at his superior's glower. "So who do you think that was?" he changed the subject quickly as he waved away a spider from his face and quickly hoped that there weren't any bigger ones ahead.

Mercer shook his head in angry dismissal before walking on once more. He paused at a door to the right, tested the handle and then fiddled with the lock, opening it in seconds. "More booby traps," he commented wearily, "spikes to the right, and a pressure plate ahead, amateurs." This place was not even vaguely challenging to the master thief, it bored him and made him further regret his decision to look for the mage. 'It wouldn't even challenge a child,' he thought angrily, 'if the mage fell into a trap he deserves it for being so stupid.'

"I keep telling you, you're not dead!" the cries of a furious and somewhat alarmed Marcurio called out to them.

"I am the guardian of the Barrow! Did you think your friends would sneak up on me? Was that plan? It won't work, the Barrow will stay safe!" a male's mad voice answered.

"Enough of this," Mercer growled before pulling out his glowing dwarven sword and quickening his pace.

Cynric tugged out an arrow and twisted it about playfully with one hand as he followed after Amaris, who hurried after Mercer, turning her head in all directions, ever wary of traps. They burst into a smaller room with a stained, wooden table with four chairs about it, and Marcurio red faced and fuming, lying shackled on the ground with a large bump building on his forehead.

"The great apprentice wizard," Mercer sneered, "what trouble have you found?"

"It wasn't my fault," Marcurio snapped back, "he thinks he's a spirit, how could I have known there would be an invisible madman down here?"

"Inbreeding," Cynric called out merrily, "I warned you!"

The glowing spectre turned around to face them in outrage, he met Mercer's eyes just once before the master thief's orange tinged blade severed his head from his shoulders. Amaris' eyes went wide as she was unable to turn away from the vicious sight; Cynric lowered his arrow in dismay and Marcurio's face turned white. When the head struck the floor with a dull thud and rolled towards the mage he twisted his face in disgust and pulled back awkwardly, the shackles on his hands jingling as he did.

The corpse flickered from a see-through bluish-white to solid colours and back again before settling on dull, tattered robes of brown and grey, their true colours of deep red and pale lilac blue showing in cleaner patches. The worn hands that now grasped the stone floor were a pale grey-brown, the man had been a Dunmer.

"Was that necessary?" Marcurio hissed in horror as he eyed the blood leaking out of the stump.

"Well I would have preferred not to come here at all," Mercer answered calmly as he sheathed his bloodstained sword, "and left you to your idiotic fate but I was not permitted to." He had no remorse for his actions, thinking it was better to deal with the situation quickly than be bored by a drawn out battle with an inferior foe.

Amaris swallowed hard as she eyed the corpse with a dull fascination. It had been a clean kill, so swift and painless the man could not have anticipated or felt it. It did not frighten or sicken her; she knew she had seen much worse. 'Is it wrong that this does not bother me?' she pondered coldly. 'Should I feel for a stranger or would that be a weakness?' She looked to Mercer and knew he had already forgotten the kill, and then she turned to Cynric, he seemed at first just as impassive but she saw some warmth in his brown gaze, he found the kill reasonable but still had a little compassion for the man. 'In an hour he will have forgotten too,' she realised as she looked to Marcurio lastly. 'And even Marcurio will have gotten over it by dawn; he has seen worse but he does not want to be cold to it and empty, just practical perhaps.'

"Are you alright?" the auburn haired woman asked the mage sincerely as she stepped towards him.

"Fine," Marcurio grumbled as he fidgeted with his shackles. He realised he was being rude and gave the woman a reassuring smile. "Thanks for coming," he added reluctantly as he burned inside with humiliation.

"No problem," Cynric answered chirpily as he knelt down before the mage and reached out for the cuffs. "Let me undo them," he said with a smirk that the mage scowled at even as he held out his hands. It took little effort, the cuffs were old, fragile with age and lack of use, a cinch compared to Amaris' cuffs, it took just one lock pick to prise them open. Marcurio let them to clatter to the ground before rubbing his wrists with a wince. "They're not something you want to get used to," Cynric commented darkly before standing upright again.

Amaris thought briefly of her own shackles, though she was afraid to admit it, even now she caught herself rubbing at her wrists absentmindedly, still unused to how they and her ankles felt without the weight. Her cuffs had been a part of her, how long they had been on her for she could not know but they had become familiar and in a twisted way she missed them, a feeling that she was disgusted for having.

"Let's get out of here."

Mercer nodded before leading the way out, not even waiting for Marcurio to stand. Amaris reached out to the mage with her free hand and though his bruised pride made him want to refuse her offer of aid he did not. With reluctance, he grasped her chilled hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. "Thanks," he repeated before he started walking.

They made it out of the burrow without trouble, following Mercer's footsteps to avoid the traps. Amaris and Marcurio released hands and breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the surface once more, taking a moment to suck in the fresh, clean mountain air.

"It's definitely time for a drink," Cynric commented eagerly. He halted when Mercer held out an arm blocking him.

The grey haired thief looked about cautiously into the gloom, listening to the sounds of the night, trying to pick out one that did not seem right.

"Reyda! Reyda never came back...nope, nope." There it was, the mournful cries of a grieving, worried man in the night. It sent a stab of pain through Amaris as she filled with sympathy for the weeping stranger. "Narfi misses her, come home Reyda. Reyda come home!" They all recognised the woeful tones as belonging to the man who had warned him about the mountain. He had been a dishevelled, simple looking Nord, one they, with most other visitors to the town, had ignored.

Mercer grimaced before hastening on, almost running. Vulnerability rushed through Amaris as the others matched the thief's pace and she reminded herself that they were out in the open of the wilds of Skyrim in the middle of the night. She stumbled over a rock lost beneath a thick clump of grass but the fall never came, instead two hands seized her and immediately righted her before releasing her. "Be careful," Mercer growled before walking on again, this time a little slower.

Amaris was surprised but too eager to get back to the inn and the light, safety and warmth it offered to ponder Mercer's agility and almost psychic senses. She was shivering now from the cold and goose bumps were plaguing Marcurio despite his thick robes. The temperature had plunged since they had stepped into the barrow and the frost had painted most of the land a glittering silvery white that caught briefly beneath the faint light of pasty, decaying Secunda as it lurked through a gap in the wispy clouds that had gathered above.

They reached Vilemyr Inn within minutes after wading through a thin stream littered with thin ice shards, over a small hill and down through frozen wildflowers, their colours stolen by the wintry night, leaving them in shades of cool grey, sparkling white and inky black. Before they entered the inn Mercer took note of the small specks of light to the right of the town near the entrance and the grey shades that indicated tents, they were travellers who could not find sanctuary, most likely Khajiit. He concluded that with them outside the town should be safe enough for one night, even a mad, daring Falmer would not be so foolish and if it was, the Khajiit would cut it down before it even reached the town's border.

Cynric smiled as he entered the inn, rubbing his hands briskly together before giving Lynly a coy grin and heading to the now crowded bar. The bard was singing loudly, coaxed on by merry drunks, strumming an upbeat tune on her lyre.

"We have one room," Mercer snarled at the mage and woman, "on the right with two beds. I think after today's fiasco you can have the floor mage and be thankful for it. Cynric will join you if he makes to the room." He stomped over to a shady patch in the crowded room and leaned against a wall, folding his arms and instantly looking like the most miserable man in the place. Bar wenches initially keen on the man shied away, glancing briefly at the handsome but battered wizard instead until one blonde caught his attention.

"A glass of Balmora Blue," the wizard ordered wearily as he gave the bump on his head a rub and looked to Amaris expectantly.

"I'm alright," she said gently.

The woman nodded before hurrying to the bar leaving the pair to linger awkwardly near Mercer. After five minutes of listening to Lynly's lovely warbles balanced with the unpleasant screeches of drunk patrons, Cynric joined them with two blue bottles of Black-Briar Reserve, one of which he offered to Mercer who accepted it with a grunt.

"Smile," the younger Breton urged them before taking a swig, "it could have been worse."

Marcurio shook his head and muttered, "who was that madman in the barrow?" The bump on his head was throbbing and the loud, joyous atmosphere was doing little to soothe his mood. Ale and wine were being splashed carelessly on the ground, plates with chunks of hard cheese and bread soon followed, tables and chairs were shifted about constantly, scraping the wooden floor as they did, and people of all races bickered, sang, and gossiped from every direction. It was chaos and whilst normally the mage was happy to revel in it with his own glass, or even jug, of wine, tonight he was too tired and irritated for it.

"It doesn't matter," Mercer growled back, barely audible over the jovial singing in the tavern.

"It does," Marcurio shot back fiercely as he glared at the older man. "I'm not saying he shouldn't have died, he would have killed me otherwise and he was insane, you put him out of his misery but he was a person."

"It's better not to have names to go with the faces," Amaris remarked quietly, "and the screams, it's less personal."

Mercer gave a grunt of approval, Cynric looked intrigued and Marcurio glanced at the woman with disapproval. "You wouldn't have said that once," he said brusquely, taking care to lean towards her so that she heard him. "We had to kill two bandits, they tried to rob us and had every intention of gutting us but we got them first. You were devastated, we had to hunt through their belongings trying to find something that told us who they were but there was nothing."

"Alright mage," Cynric interrupted coolly, "when you see so many people suffer and die over the years you learn it's better to just not know who or what they were, it's less maddening and I think we can all tell that Amaris, like the rest of us, has seen plenty of people die."

The young woman swallowed hard at this, meeting Cynric's suspicious brown stare briefly before turning her own despaired gaze on the Imperial. "I'm sorry if I'm not who you knew anymore but when it comes to death I have to be distant Marcurio, I will break if I learn anymore names to match with bodies, there are already so many lost in my mind, I have forgotten them now but I knew them once and it was too much. I didn't want to know those people, to have names to the faces I've lost, and I don't want to know who died in that barrow, another name to hear in my nightmares."

Marcurio turned to accept his glass of wine and pay for it before dismissing the barmaid. He was secretly relieved for the distraction and took his time taking a deep sip as he contemplated Amaris' words. 'She cares but she can't,' he thought coolly, 'it's a contradiction. She has shut herself off from emotions when it comes to strangers but it's not in her nature, it never was. The thieves have to make themselves care, it's easy for them to rob and kill, not that they are assassins, and move on but she and I are the opposite, we have to make ourselves not care, it's just become easier for her. Wherever she was, whatever happened to her, she lost people she knew or grew to know but why?'

Mercer was coldly thinking along similar lines in a more pragmatic manner. 'If the Falmer had her all those years they did not have her alone but everyone else they must have tortured and killed, which would be their way, but why not her? Why did she alone get to live and escape? Was it only her? It fits for the Falmer to have people hostage and kill them but not to keep one alive, not for six years. What am I missing?' He filled with frustration and vowed to make sure Amaris kept to her word to tell him the latest of her memories now that the mage was safe. 'Whatever she has remembered better be useful,' he thought petulantly.

They endured the festivities of the tavern for close to an hour, during which time Cynric was joined by a sultry smiling Lynly on a break. Tiring of Lynly's obvious flirting with the young Breton and the general rowdiness of the tavern, Mercer retired to bed with a tired Amaris and moody, pride stung Marcurio.

They found their room small but clean, the wooden walls not nearly thick enough to block out the noise or the slight chill in the air. There were two unlit candles resting on a pine bedside cabinet, one almost melted away, no torches and no fire. The only light came from their own doorway, which Mercer soon banished, leaving them to adjust their eyesight to a grey gloom. Asides from the two oak beds and the bedside cabinet, which sat between the beds, there was only an uneven desk pressed against the right wall, its chair missing, probably in the main area of the tavern.

Amaris was the only one glad for the noise as they lay down to sleep, she in one bed, Mercer in another and Marcurio on the floor, grateful for Amaris' pillow, though he had refused it twice, taking it only because she had tossed it on the floor, insisting that the hard mattress was comfortable enough. For the young woman the noise assured her that there were people nearby, lots of people, it made her feel safe, comforted even. She had spent so long with no one to talk to or listen to, no one to console her or make her feel safe. 'That's not right,' she realised jarringly, 'there was...There were many people,' she corrected darkly, 'many victims to scream in the night. The ones with names...'

She tugged the worn blanket tighter about herself but it did nothing to banish the chill and Cynric's old hooded coat that she wore was not helping. Her feet were so cold they stung, as did her fingers and nose and she knew they had turned red, her teeth were starting to chatter slightly and she could feel her legs beginning to quake. There was no fire in this room, nothing to banish the cold or build up heat, there was just the dead chill in the air that seemed to seep into her bones and send aches through her body.

For an hour it was like this, Amaris remained wide awake thanks to the cold, tasting it on her lips as each foggy breath slipped out into the dark and sent a sharp pang through her chest.

"Are you going to shiver and chatter all night?" Mercer asked rudely, breaking the silence.

"Who?" Marcurio grumbled back. He had his hands tucked into his armpits and his legs folded together but it was only proving to be uncomfortable and unhelpful to his plight, and he was as awake as Amaris.

"Both of you," Mercer growled.

"It's cold," Marcurio snapped back.

"Not as cold as the pit I could've left you in!" Mercer was prompt to answer.

"Look we'll adjust," Marcurio grumbled sullenly, "but it is cold." He contemplated conjuring a fire but with no kindling for it he knew either it would not last or it would find its own kindling and a disaster would ensue. He huddled closer into his robes, shut his eyes and tried to think of more pleasant things- the warmth of The Bee and the Bard, yes a nice table there with a large glass of Honningbrew Mead, and a doe eyed mage from Winterhold he'd had a flirtation with a few months ago for company.

The door opened loudly, startling the mage from his all too brief slumber as drunken slurring, out of tune singing and a stream of thin, golden light slipped into the room. Mercer did not even seem to stir whilst Amaris sat up wide eyed and looked to the stumbling silhouette in the doorway. It staggered forward, collided with the mage and fell forward with a loud cry and a thump.

"You bloody fool!" Marcurio cursed in pain whilst the intruder merely burped.

"Floor's as good as bed," the drunken tones of Cynric Endell commented happily.

"Get off me," Marcurio snarled as he tried to struggle out from under the thief. "Why are you here anyway? Shouldn't you be with that bard?"

Cynric gave a loud snicker of joy before rolling off the Imperial clumsily. "Didn't want to miss the nightmares," he remarked cheerfully.

Amaris flushed faintly at the thief's words before lying back down at last, satisfied that there was no danger. 'My nightmares,' she thought with a pang of dread, 'just four so far, is he expecting more? Is he really concerned about them or just too drunk to know what he should be doing?'

Marcurio let out another curse before pushing the door closed, and wrenching his pillow from Cynric's sneaky hands.

"Hey!" the thief protested. "Learn to share!"

"Ha!" the wizard snapped back sardonically. "Like you and the bedrolls?"

"I saved your life, that's worth a pillow, or a blanket," Cynric griped as he tugged at Marcurio's robes sharply with both hands.

"That is not a blanket!" Marcurio yelled angrily as he tried to pull them back and simultaneously bat away the thief's hands.

"Shut up already!" Mercer snarled. "You were complaining about being cold earlier mage, now you have Cynric to share heat with," he remarked sternly in a voice thick with cynicism.

"You're joking," Marcurio answered frostily as he kicked Cynric in the leg.

"Ow! You're an ass," Cynric grumbled, "a stupid, magical ass. Keep your blankets then," he paused to let out another burp, "it's all okay, you be selfish I'm a thief, I'll get my own blankets."

"Cynric, mage, I want to make one thing perfectly clear," Mercer said in a voice full of threat, "if you pair don't remind yourselves what silence is I will personally tether you together outside and you can sleep on the frost."

The pair fell verbally silent at this, instead struggling over the pillow as quietly as they could manage with a few choice kicks, shoves and nudges before Marcurio finally gave up and allowed Cynric to rest his head on the edge of it. Amaris could not help but smile when she heard their muffled scuffling. 'I wonder what happened with Lynly?' she pondered as she drew her blanket close once more. 'Did she turn him down or did he reject her or was he just too drunk? I can smell the ale from here; he's certainly had a lot. Still,' she thought with a shiver, 'it's probably keeping him warmer than the rest of us.'

Within twenty minutes Cynric was snoring loudly with part of Marcurio's robes tugged over him. The wizard thought several curses and was convinced he would never sleep but within another ten minutes exhaustion won out and he drifted back into a peaceful slumber. The mage would not even admit it to himself as he drifted off but he was grateful to share someone's body heat even if it was the drunken thief's. Amaris was not so fortunate, for her the room was just too cold, but she tried to suppress her shivers and chatters so as not to disturb the others, Mercer in particular. To the youthful redhead it was still preferable to sleeping outside in the wild, exposed and at risk even with a fire.

'Why can't she just sleep?' Mercer wondered in frustration. 'She keeps shaking that blanket with her shivers. Even that whiny mage can sleep and surely she's experienced worse, this is mild for Skyrim. I suppose being so high makes it colder and the girl doesn't have the right clothes but she had a chance to buy some, ruined by the mage but still, she has experienced worse I'm sure. If not she soon will, there will be many more nights to spend under the skies.'

For seven hours the thieves and mage slept whilst Amaris caught snatches of sleep, continuously roused when her blanket slipped off as she turned or another chill seemed to turn her feet raw. She was relieved when Mercer roused them for dawn and still happier to have stayed in an inn than out in the wilds despite her exhaustion.

She smiled faintly at Cynric's protesting groans and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Mercer regarded the woman with scorn, even for one who dwelled with thieves she was unkempt, Sapphire and Vex at least had combs, soaps and a change of clothes. Though Amaris had washed regularly in streams and at rivers she still managed to appear dirty and unkempt. She had only two pairs of trousers, two shirts, a belt, and a pair of boots to her name, her hooded cloak taken by Sapphire who had claimed ownership over it after having paid for it. The redhead's clothes were thoroughly worn covered with a variety of stains and smells despite her best efforts to wash them in the stream.

"It's too early," Cynric lamented as he clutched his pounding skull with one hand and let out another groan.

"Hurry up," Mercer snarled at him.

It took them thirty minutes to get up, have a quick breakfast in the inn, a brief wash by the river, and retrieve their horses. Cynric had refused food and turned an odd grey colour when theirs had arrived, excusing himself quickly from the table with the promise to meet them at the stables. They had found the thief there, still grey but slightly perkier.

The day was cool with a slight breeze, the skies were clear and the sun was rising steadily, promising to banish the frost. They departed under a rosy golden sky, heading west towards the mountains.


	10. Chapter 10- Death Is But A Memory

_Hey guys many thanks for the favs and notifications, please keep the comments coming, they are much appreciated and the feedback is extremely helpful! Also, it's good to know what you like and don't like about this story! Warning: this chapter is a little graphic!_

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They had travelled for two days and nights and were nearing Riverwood having dealt with a minor clutch of bandits, and a spriggon but thankfully no Falmer. They had passed and, in Mercer and Cynric's case, robbed a small group of Stormcloaks and a slightly larger cluster of Khajiit traders, who Marcurio had chosen to legitimately barter with, angrily waving away Cynric's offer to steal whatever he wanted.

It was a murky midday and a drizzle had just begun, the horses moved along a worn down path at a lazy walk carrying their belongings whilst the three walked beside them briskly, searching for a decent rest stop. They had come down from the mountains now and the snow had given way to damp grass, green leafed trees, weeds, dull flowers and thorny bushes. Near the path they walked on the grass was wild and thick, and the trees spread out. There were a couple of brooks nearby, some small hills and hints here and there of previous travellers including hoof prints, cow dung, burnt out campfires, a tatter of cloth caught on a bush and a dropped coin, which Cynric was swift to snatch up. Mercer noted it all with a dull interest, a small clump of dark fur on a tree branch indicated Khajiit, a tatter of soft, rich, navy blue cloth suggested the cloak of a Stormcloak, and the telltale black leaves high up in an oak tree hinted at a mage or a Flame Atronach.

After travelling for a weary hour, Mercer finally called a halt. "To the left," he commanded, gesturing to a small copse at the top of a hill, "we'll rest there." The thief did not wait for a reply or contradiction but instead tightened his grip on Frost's reins and led the way.

Cynric nodded approvingly and followed with his dapple grey, which he had named Robert, which had caused Marcurio to protest and grumble that Robert was not a horse's name. The thief had naturally ignored the wizard's argument and made a point of addressing the horse as Robert as often as possible.

"Well it will do," Marcurio grumbled, he was weary from travelling and eager to rest, eat and drink.

Amaris followed quietly, hopeful that she might get a chance to continue her reading. Though weary, she had slept surprisingly well the past two nights, warmer than she had been in Vilemyr Inn thanks to a fire and extra blankets thieved by Cynric from passing Nord travellers. Though wary of the Falmer in the night, she had felt a little more secure between the fire and Cynric, with Marcurio at her feet, and Cynric's dagger sheathed by her side.

Cynric unfolded a blanket for them to sit on beneath the trees, secured Robert to a tree and then lifted his bow from his shoulder with a grin and announced, "I'm going hunting." He hurried off to the east where another small group of trees lay and a stream trickled by softly, barely audible over the low drizzle.

Amaris pushed down her hood, sat down and reached to the worn satchel hanging by her side where the now much thumbed copy of The Beggar Prince dwelled.

"Don't even think about it," Mercer growled before lifting a book from his own belongings and throwing it to her.

She caught the worn tome with surprise and pressed one finger into the silver engraved letters on the front of its blue cover. It was two numbers first and then three words and three letters that made little sense to her. "Sixteen," she read the digits with ease, "Acorns,"

"Accords," Mercer snapped in annoyance, "A-C-C-O-R-D-S, that's a D not an N, and there are two Cs."

Marcurio glanced at him with a degree of suspicion as he smoothed down his tawny robes and sat on the edge of the blanket with his knees raised. He wondered why the master thief cared at all about the woman's ability to read, if he was bored, embarrassed to be with someone who couldn't read well, annoyed by having to listen to her struggling or perhaps actually cared. 'No,' the mage dismissed immediately, 'he's not the kind to care, it's either boredom or annoyance.' He turned from the pair to peer out at their surroundings. There was a small gap between the trees at the edge of the hill giving them a decent view of the path they had been walking upon and the wilderness that surrounded it. He glimpsed a hare bounding swiftly through the grass pursued by a thin, copper brown fox and felt his stomach growl in empathy with the fox.

"Sixteen Accords of..." Amaris paused and squinted down at the word, fearful of getting it wrong and earning Mercer's scorn once more. "Mm..Mad...Madness," she ventured. "Sixteen Accords of Madness," she repeated confidently when Mercer did not correct her, "V, VI."

"That's a small v," Mercer remarked gruffly, "it's short for volume, and it's not VI, it's six, those are numerals, letters that stand for numbers."

Amaris blinked at him in confusion though something in her agreed that that was right and something she had once been taught but paid little attention to. "So it's the sixth book in the series?" she questioned.

Mercer nodded impatiently. "Better than that Beggar Prince tripe, I've had enough of listening to that, I know the story so well now I could recite it in my sleep, and believe me I've better things to dream of than that nonsense."

Amaris grinned, amused at the thought of Mercer dreaming about Wheedle of all things. "Thank you," she said softly before turning her attention back to the book and opening it. She ran her fingers down the dirty spattered page like it was as precious as gold or jewels, staring at the only two words on the first page with interest. "Hi...Hire..." She struggled over the word awkwardly prompting Mercer to roll his eyes, mentally curse his stupidity in giving her yet another book to plague him with and then finally move towards her with some reluctance.

"Hircine," he snapped, "Hircine's Tale."

"Hircine," Amaris repeated in surprise, "I know that name."

"You should," Marcurio remarked calmly, "he's one of the Daedric Princes, specifically of the hunt and beasts."

Mercer spared the wizard a grey eyed glower, irritated that he had not given Amaris a chance to see if she could remember on her own. He had prompted her when they had left Ivarstead to honour her word and divulge what memories she had, and had been bitterly disappointed with her response. It was just more about her being a prisoner of the Falmer, she had not been alone, there had been others who she had known, tortured and killed, it was nothing the thief had not already guessed. She had made dark murmurings of some lasting longer than others, people being chained beside her purposely so she could be forced to watch their slow demise.

Amaris nodded. "Yes," she commented quietly, "a Daedric Prince, of course."

Mercer suddenly turned swiftly, pulling out Chillrend as he did. He slashed the sword in a blur, causing a scream of pain and a splash of blood to ripple through the air. Amaris and Marcurio both jumped up in surprise as a black blur became a person, sprung from the shadows of the trees, who hissed angrily before leaping back to dodge Mercer's next swing.

The figure was tall with the unmistakable emerald green scaled face of an Argonian, masculine and muscular, he was dressed in tight black and red armour designed for stealth rather than defence and moved with a surprising speed, lashing out with a dagger in each gloved hand.

Marcurio prepared to conjure a firebolt when Mercer ducked, elbowed the Argonian in the stomach immediately winding it, kicked his right foot hard into a knee causing his foe to double over and then finally slammed the hilt of his blue tinged sword into the back of the Argonian's skull sending him to the ground. He rolled quickly but was not fast enough to avoid Mercer's boot slamming into his chest and the tip of his sword pressing down to his throat.

"Who sent you assassin?" the thief demanded.

Defiant yellow eyes glowered up at him and the amphibian faced male retorted boldly, "I will not say."

Assassin. Amaris tensed at the word as she looked at the distinctive black and red armour and found herself trembling. She had seen that armour before; it caused her lip to tremble and a sudden dizziness to torment her as she stared at the assassin hesitantly like he was a poisonous snake ready to strike, an analogy she knew was disturbingly accurate.

"I know how your lot works," Mercer growled, "you get conjured in a ritual to assassinate someone but if you fail your contract there are only three options, die, accept your defeat or try again. In your case the third option is gone, you will never get the drop on me so you can tell me who hired you or your blood can adorn my blade you slimy bastard."

The Argonian sighed. "They said you would be tough, even Veezara warned me but there was a lot of gold involved not enough for my life to be forfeited for mind." He gave a sly smile as he tried to pull his head further up the ground and away from the sword but failed as Mercer pressed his boot down harder.

"So you know who and what I am and yet still you tried to kill me?" Mercer scoffed arrogantly.

"Yes, yes, of course I know, the Dark Brotherhood always learn what they can about their marks Mercer Frey," the Argonian answered wearily.

The Dark Brotherhood, the name sent another jolt through Amaris, a vision of two people, both in black and red, would be killers, swiftly made victims. "Kester," she choked out. "No." She shook her head wildly as her odd eyes suddenly burned with tears. Two halves of one whole, one fair and bright eyed, the other dark haired and pale, both come to be her reaper, death dealers from the shadows they had overestimated their skills or underestimated the confines their target was in and paid dearly for it.

The Argonian rolled his eyes back sharply and flicked out his pink tongue. "Kester?" he echoed curiously.

Mercer scowled at the woman briefly before returning his attention to the assassin, let the mage deal with the redhead.

Marcurio looked to Amaris with alarm and took a step towards her as she started to quiver. 'What is it this time?' he wondered curiously as he glanced at the assassin briefly. 'Has the assassin somehow triggered another memory? Why?'

"Kester, Kester," she crooned softly, "and Quintus, he was quiet in the end," she swallowed down a sob, "they were always quiet in the end!"

"Enough," Mercer snarled as he pressed the blade down on the Argonian's throat causing him to yelp and a trickle of blood to leak out.

"I know those names!" the Argonian snapped suddenly.

"They are common enough," Mercer dismissed carelessly though he knew it could not be a coincidence that Amaris was suddenly reciting names that the assassin knew. 'First the name of my would be killer, or rather the coward who hired someone else to do their dirty work, then Amaris can explain how she happens to know assassins,' he decided firmly.

"Now tell me who put the contract out on me?" the master thief demanded.

The Argonian sighed again as he turned his beady yellow gaze back on the thief. "Maven Black-Briar," he answered moodily.

"Really?" this surprised query came from Cynric Endell who had returned in time to hear Mercer's question and the answer that followed. He had a plump bird hanging against his waist, two rabbits clutched by their ears in his right hand and a fawn held by its broken neck in his left. His eyes took in the scene quickly; he had hurried back upon hearing Amaris' cries and the hysterical yell of a stranger. He recognised the garb of the Dark Brotherhood well enough, not as recognisable as the garment of the thieves, not even close, but he had dealings with them many times before to know a member when he saw one.

_It had not been enough to finally kill him, their shared companion, not just a brother, but half of one soul, a partner, and a dear companion to one left to rot alone for so many years. They had unshackled she and the remaining half, the broken, cursing Kester, but she had no time to feel relief for the shackles were soon returned, new ones with studs on the insides that dug painfully into her wrists and ankles. She was facing forward now; they both were, watching in a horrid fascination as they carried the corpse of brave Quintus towards a wooden table._

_She screamed in disgust, then shrieked and howled madly in horror and tried to shut her eyes to the sight though her ears kept her painfully aware of what they were doing. She heard knives and blunt axes cut through bone and flesh, heard the blood splashing onto the table and hard, rocky ground, the sinews snapping and the bones cracking as they hacked and dismembered the body. Then they were upon her, one clammy hand upon her mouth to silence the screams and another peeling back her eyelids painfully, forcing her to watch once more._

_She thought it was at its worst when they threw the bits of flesh and bone upon a grill over a fire, she had thought it a terrible meal meant for them._

The taste was suddenly in her mouth, fresh, burned and bloody; she doubled over and vomited violently. It was a cursed taste that had plagued her for months after, perhaps even years, a taste she had never thought to forget but mercifully had until today. She jerked away from Marcurio's grasp before screaming over and over, "they made me eat him! They made me eat him! They burned his flesh and made me eat it!" Over and over her screams continued until they became a wild jumble of words none of them could understand.

Marcurio stood there in wide eyed horror, his hands half-heartedly still raised though he made no attempt to grab her. He tried to digest her sudden outburst but was too sickened to really consider what she had gone through.

Cynric swiftly restrained her, securing both hands about her waist, wincing as she dealt several kicks to his legs. He knew there was no point in consoling her, she was too hysterical, but equally he could not let her swing her limbs about wildly risking harm to herself and them.

They waited until she grew hoarse and still, exhausted by her outburst, until finally all she was able to do was whimper as vomit trickled down her chin and her body seemed to spasm against her will. Sweat soaked her brow and goosebumps appeared on her arms. Cynric sat down with her still restrained in his arms and leaned back slightly to allow Marcurio to dab at her stained chin with his sleeve. None of them were willing to question the meaning behind her sudden nausea and screaming.

"Maven Black-Briar hired you then," Mercer snapped down at the pallid Argonian, instantly drawing attention away from Amaris.

The Argonian was disturbed by the woman's screaming and immediately wondered if she was mad. If she wasn't the implication of her words suggested more than he wanted to know about. He nodded quickly. "Yes, she did the ritual," he babbled nervously, "and set a contract for your death."

"I see, a little over reactive but unsurprising," Mercer commented sardonically. "Well you've done your part, now, this shouldn't take long."

"Wait!" the Argonian snapped as he saw Mercer tighten his grip on his sword, preparing to push it down. "I know who those men are!" he shouted almost hysterically. "Kester and Quintus, for my life I'll tell you! They're not just names; they are the same ones she speaks of!"

Marcurio and Cynric looked from the weeping woman to the assassin with renewed interest whilst Mercer frowned. He did not want the man escaping to speak of his failed attempt to kill the thief and thus risk another attempt on Mercer's life, perhaps with more thieves; or worse, speaking of Amaris to others. The last thing he wanted was anyone else having an interest in her, and whilst he doubted the assassin would suspect she was worth anything, evidently there was a tie between them; he claimed to know men she seemed to. Potentially it could be the answer the thief was waiting for but equally the men could be ones who knew her worth and would want it for themselves. 'I can't ignore this opportunity,' he reasoned with himself, 'it's not a coincidence, the assassin triggered another memory for her, an important one that might finally solve this riddle.'

"Start talking and your life is yours," Mercer growled before lifting Chillrend away, though he kept the sword out and his boot firmly pressed on the assassin's chest.

"They're members of the Brotherhood," the Argonian explained quickly, "well they were, Kester and Quintus Nevingo, twins, there is a common tale about them, how they were sent on a contract where they both meant their end, one physically and one mentally. Kester lost his brother and his sanity with him, he returned scarred forever, physically and mentally, babbling about a terrible place deep within the bowels of the earth, a prison, a torture chamber..." The Argonian paused and swallowed hard.

"There have been many tales and rumours about it," he continued, "I always found it interesting so I asked amongst the Brotherhood, they said it only happened a few years ago, but no one likes to talk about it, save one. A cranky old man, he's seen so much in his time that nothing fazes him, or so I thought, but when I asked about the twins, even he did not want to talk but I persuaded him. It was a mystery, I had to know what had happened, who they were trying to kill, how Kester escaped, where he had gone after returning to the Brotherhood, and what foe they had met that could defeat his brother. They were the best," he swallowed hard and licked his lips anxiously, "the former leaders in fact, that's what I learned. A joint leadership under which the Brotherhood had prospered, then that contract came, one that demanded the best, one that warned of awful things but promised so much in return. I never found out who it was for."

"Me," Amaris spoke up with a shudder. "Me," she repeated savagely, "they came to kill me."

Mercer's blade moved too fast for the Argonian to see, he had not even the time to digest Amaris' revelation before Chillrend sank through his throat and opened it up, causing his blood to trickle out so rapidly he was dead within seconds.

For a moment there was only a shocked, heavy silence before Marcurio commented coldly, "he could have told us more."

Mercer, who had been looking pointedly at Cynric, shook his head dismissively as he wiped his blade clean with a rag before sheathing it. "He was learning more than we were," he grumbled before he turned his stormy gaze on the redheaded woman. She had always been unkempt with her hair so filthy it was brown, and her clothes permanently stained despite several washes in the river but now she was just pitiful looking, too sorry a state for anyone to stare unfavourably at her. Snot and vomit stained, hunched up against Cynric, small and bony, she was almost childlike. Mercer regarded her with disgust wondering how anything so woeful looking could ever be valuable.

"They killed Quintus," Amaris rambled madly, "they killed him, they cooked him, and we ate him. They killed him, they cooked him, and we ate him," she repeated as if it was a disturbing rhyme.

"Shush," Cynric attempted to hush her as he pushed back some of her damp hair from her now burning brow. He could think of nothing to soothe away this new horror for the girl and privately thought for the first time that perhaps she had been better without her memories. 'What more can she have went through?' he wondered darkly. 'What could be worse? Is it right to push her? Is it right to pursue these memories? Perhaps she's better off without and we should turn back to Riften.' Truthfully he wanted to hear no more, the Argonian was not the only one to know the names of Quintus and Kester Nevingo.

She vomited again as she recalled how they had held her mouth open and forced bits of burned flesh and bone into it, how she had choked and vomited several times as they had forced her to swallow it, and how her starved stomach had growled for it even as she had groaned. Quintus, a name to go with the screams, a face to go with what had become a bloody mess of burned flesh; it was exactly what she had not wanted.

"We'll ride on," Mercer commanded suddenly, "and get to Riverwood. Cynric saddle the horses."

Cynric looked up in surprise at his superior's voice before glancing down dumbly at the girl and then back up at Mercer's impatient glower. He released the woman with some reluctance before standing up and retrieving his dropped spoils and then heading over to Robert.

Mercer went to the girl, gripping her by her hands tightly and pulling her up roughly without warning. "You'll ride with me," he told her sternly before pulling her over to Frost. 'By the eight she stinks,' he thought in revulsion. She removed stiffly without resistance or protest, her eyes empty as she reached for the reins and allowed Mercer to pull her up and onto the saddle.

The thief turned back to their belongings, taking care to lift up 16 Accords of Madness and place it into her satchel, which he fastened closed and then knotted carefully onto Frost's saddle with their other sparse belongings. He mounted behind the woman as Marcurio mounted Robert with a frown and rubbed his palms together impatiently as Cynric jumped on in front of him.

They headed off briskly, urging their horses into a canter, all of them made sombre by the sudden turn of events. Mercer turned them over in his head methodically trying to fit this new piece of information into the puzzle, whilst Marcurio filled with disgust and pity and Cynric pondered over the situation glumly and considered suggesting returning to Riften once they reached Riverwood.

They arrived in the town in the middle of a heavy rainstorm. The clouds were so thick and dark it was as if night and only a couple of people strode about the mucky streets as their now soaked and mud stained steeds trotted in with weary snorts. Cynric jumped off first, his boots splashing in a puddle as he did, and seized Robert's reins in his right hand. He raised his left hand to shield his eyes from the heavy droplets pouring from the sky and try to spy the stables.

They moved quickly through the rain, glancing about impatiently for stables before Cynric finally stopped a young boy running with a dog and waved a silver coin before his face. "Where can we find stables for our horses lad?" he queried loudly in an attempt to be heard over the heavy patters of rain.

The boy's eyes widened at the coin before he looked about the town quickly and pointed to the left. "There's a stall there for my father's cow, but it's big, your horses could stay there if you paid him. Come on, I'll show you for another coin."

"Done." Cynric tossed him the first before following him as he hurried through the rain.

They found the stall at the edge of the town built beside a small outdoors pen; it was rundown but large, dry and stocked with enough straw for the horses and the large, slightly alarmed looking, hairy cow standing in the corner. Mercer dismounted from Frost, lifted Amaris down and then immediately tended to the horse. Once the horses were free of their tack and burdens, the boy led them to the long, single floored, stone house that stood beside the barn. He opened the door and entered with the dog by his side; not bothering to take off his mud stained shoes or soaked clothes.

The dog, a large, shaggy haired beast, shook its damp fur out with a happy bark prompting a woman to immediately scold, "you're soaking everything!" She looked past the dog to the strangers behind the boy and immediately grasped the handle of the pot she had been tending with one hand as she looked to the men fiercely. "Frodnar who are these people?" she demanded.

"Strangers," the boy answered merrily, "they've promised coin for using our stall for their horses."

"Our stall?" the woman echoed as she frowned. "Frodnar!" she scolded.

Cynric tugged out a small pouch of coins and jingled it pointedly. "We can pay good coin," he assured her before stepping forward to hand another silver piece to Frodnar. As he moved forward the drenched, bedraggled and empty eyed Amaris was revealed to the woman.

She tutted disapprovingly and looked to the men once more trying to decipher who and what they were. "Well," she paused to look at the pouch Cynric placed on the table before her, "alright, if you can pay."

Cynric nodded amicably. "Just until tomorrow," he assured. "Now where can we find shelter for ourselves?" he queried as he gave the woman a charming smile.

She flushed faintly, not immune to the thief's good looks before answering quickly, "The Sleeping Giant Inn, it's not far from here."

The thief's smile widened slightly and he said sincerely, "thanks for your help, we appreciate it." He turned from her and back to the others. Mercer had already opened the door and was pulling Amaris behind him.

They headed back into the torrent of stinging, ice cold water and stomped through as quickly as they could, Marcurio and Cynric both sighing in relief when they saw the sign for the inn rattling in the storm. Mercer led the way in wordlessly, hurrying to the counter and requesting two rooms with single beds and extra blankets.

The sullen faced, large nosed Nord behind the bar perked up slightly, delighted to have four customers for business. He hunted out two brass keys for them before calling over a woman sweeping named Delphine. "Show these guests to their rooms," he ordered, "the two on the right, and get them whatever they need."

The woman, a tough looking, sharp faced Breton with reddish blonde hair tied back in a severe bun, looked them over with disapproval. "Thieves' Guild," she remarked to Cynric accusingly, recognising his brown outfit.

Cynric grinned brightly at her. "Only on weekdays," he jested before lifting out yet another small pouch. "I'm happy to pay for some shelter and food and whatever other delights you want to offer."

Delphine scowled back before turning on one heel and walking to the rooms lined up on the right side of the building. "This way," she snapped.

They followed; pausing as she reached them and gestured carelessly with one hand to two doors that were beside each other. "Your quarters are here, please enjoy your stay and let me know if there's anything else you need."

"Some food," Cynric commented again, "what's the special?"

"Roast beef served with fried potatoes," Delphine answered coolly as she looked at the thief with small, frosty blue eyes.

Amaris paled and let out a choked gargle as another mouthful of vomit immediately came up and spattered onto the floor. Delphine whirled round with surprise, her annoyed stare turning tender as she took in the woman's soiled and wretched state and wondered, as Frodnar's mother had, what exactly she was doing in such a state and with three men, two of whom looked anything other than law abiding citizens. "Is she ill?" she queried calmly, wondering cautiously if it might be contagious.

"A little," Marcurio answered as he looked to Amaris with worry.

Delphine nodded. "Well we have soup," she offered kindly, "I'll have Orgnar make some and whatever else you want."

Mercer unlocked the door to the room on the right and pushed Amaris into it without reply.

"That would be good," Cynric retorted with a smile, noticing how Delphine frowned at Mercer's gesture. "They're a strange couple," he explained when Delphine turned a disapproving stare on him, "but it works for them."

"And you two?" Delphine queried dryly as she folded her arms and glanced at Marcurio.

The Imperial's cheeks immediately turned red and he jerked his fists down sharply as he snapped firmly, "we're not a couple!"

Cynric snickered and commented chirpily, "except on weekends."

"No we're not!" Marcurio protested with a glower at the thief before he looked to Delphine desperately. "He's joking!" he insisted.

"Of course," Delphine commented icily as Cynric chuckled. "Now, would you like anything else?"

"Your best wine," Marcurio grumbled, "a jug, I'm going to need it and whatever food you have."

"A bottle of ale for me, water for the girl and soup," Cynric remarked, "and chicken if you have any, with those fried potatoes, thank you." He unlocked the door to his room and headed in, leaving Marcurio standing indecisively in the corridor.

The wizard was reluctant to leave Amaris with the master thief but equally unsure about risking a confrontation with him. Concern overrode fear and he stepped into the room after the pair. Amaris sat on the edge of one of the beds, pasty faced and damp from the rain, she had fallen silent and was staring blankly at the wall. Mercer stood against the opposing wall with a scowl and a thoughtful gleam in his grey gaze.

'She was important enough to have the assassin masters come for her,' the thief thought suspiciously, 'but they failed, evidently they were no match for the Falmer who were determined to keep her alive, why? What is it about her that makes her so damn important?' He looked to her disapprovingly, she was a scrawny, sickly looking creature, young faced and yet old in her stare, only the mage's certainty that she was only a few years younger than him made Mercer place her in her twenties, she was so bony her body was childlike, yet her horror filled unusual irises could have belonged to someone his age. 'It's experience in them,' he thought, 'and history, a twisted kind that usual only comes with years, many years, but she seems to have had it all in a mere six.'

Marcurio stepped up to her but could not think what to say. No words or touch would undo the nightmarish memories and he was not Cynric, it was not in his nature to console a distraught a woman. 'Of course his motives for doing it are questionable,' the mage thought with a frown. He sighed and glanced Mercer's way briefly.

Mercer met the dark brown stare and queried bluntly, "is Solitude a ruse? Is there someone or something waiting for us there that you know about mage? All these coincidences began with you, how is it that you and she came to be in Riften at the same time? How did you spend two years with her and learn nothing, not even a name?"

Marcurio did not flinch at the accusations, his frown deepened and he held the thief's stare with a calm gaze knowing that if he looked away he would only make Mercer more apprehensive. "I live in Riften," he answered bluntly, "and I do not know how or why she came to be there, it was you who found her not I. Surely if I had planned it I would have made certain to locate her before a thief could," he retorted coldly, taking care to emphasise the word 'thief'. "I learned what she wanted me to learn in the two years we knew each other and she equally learned the same about me. She was running from something and I am sure you know as well as I that you cannot escape your past without hiding it."

Mercer let out a snort of annoyance. "If we get to Solitude and it is a trap I won't hesitate to gut you."

"Why would the trap affect you?" Marcurio demanded angrily. "Is she your property now, your prisoner? Should I now be I questioning your motives? I was her friend, you are only her possessor. She is worth nothing to you but the gold you hope someone will pay for her."

"Stop it," Amaris spoke up frostily, "both of you, stop. I am no one's property not now, not ever again."

Marcurio nodded agreeably before turning and exiting the room before he said something to the thief that he might regret. He found Cynric lying on the bed to the right with his arms folded behind his head and a dark expression on his handsome face. 'So Kester is mad and Quintus dead,' the thief thought pityingly, 'I had heard the rumours but never suspected the truth, and she knew them. Why did they try to kill her? Why did they fail?'


	11. Chapter 11- The Wilds of Riverwood

"What did the mage put in her water?"

Cynric halted in the doorway, straightening his pose and giving a small, harmless smirk. He knew it had been folly to attempt sneaking up on Mercer Frey; the truth was he wanted to see how far he could get before the master thief noticed. "Did you hear me open the door?" he queried wryly.

"I heard you the moment you started to move," Mercer growled back from the gloom. The room was lit with only a single white candle burning beside Amaris' bed, her only solace in the early evening, Mercer would have preferred darkness of course but he had not argued when Delphine had brought the candle in with the food and drink.

"It was a mild sleeping potion," Cynric rewarded Mercer's answer with one of his own, "which worked well by the looks of it." He turned his stare on the slumbering Amaris who lay awkwardly beneath a brown blanket twitching occasionally. Her soup lay on the same cabinet as the candle, untouched beside the half drunk glass of water Marcurio had spiked with Cynric's reluctant approval.

Mercer shrugged, he did not approve of potions or poisons in the best of situations, even ones that were designed to help could be used to hinder. "She would have been better finding her own peace," he grumbled.

"With all that madness in her mind?" Cynric queried doubtfully. "Unlikely she would have slept at all, and if you're insistent on keeping her near you, wouldn't you like her to have some rest so you can?"

Mercer scowled at Cynric's bold words, making his disapproval clear in his icy stare. "She was lost to the mage in an inn when he let her out of his sight," he remarked coldly, "I would take care that she does not leave us in the same fashion."

Cynric nodded as he took another step into the room and quipped innocently as he looked about. "That is if the mage is to be believed." His brown stare flickered back to Mercer briefly. "Do you still believe him?"

"I never believed him," Mercer grumbled sharply. "Do you believe him?"

Cynric flashed his superior a slightly malicious smile before admitting, "I didn't at first but now, yes. He cares about her, that's real enough and he seems just as confused about everything as us and frightened too."

Mercer scowled harder, unconvinced by Cynric's words. "Is it possible that the leaders of the Brotherhood tried to kill her?" he demanded bluntly.

She gave a low whimper in her sleep causing Cynric to hesitate before answering as he gave her a cautious glance. In truth it was why he had avoided entering the room until now, he had known the questions would come; it was too much to hope that Mercer would forget the former jail breaker's ties to the assassins. The younger thief nodded solemnly. "It was always a great mystery of the Brotherhood," he confessed, "the vanishing of their leaders. I wasn't around when they received the request, in fact I didn't learn of it until they had been gone for two months. You know I don't keep much contact with the Brotherhood anymore; my skills as a thief bring me more wealth than my skills as an assassin could. It was three years ago, maybe less, they had been offered not just gold but jewels too, it was the highest sum anyone had placed on a mark but there was a catch of course, their mark dwelled underground, in Dwemer ruins. They were warned they would have to deal with Dwemer traps and machines, Chauruses and Falmer but ultimately they thought the price was worth it."

"Do you not know who hired them or how they found her?" Mercer snarled.

Cynric shook his head wearily. "No, no one in the Brotherhood seems to know anything about that, only Kester and Quintus know who hired them and what clues they were given that led to her, it was all very secret. They were not to speak of it, even to their own, it was too dangerous.

Kester was gone for almost a year before he returned, I heard from others that he had arrived back but no one was glad about it. I got curious and went to see him but by the time I reached their hideout he had gone again, wandering off rambling about burned bodies, darkness and Quintus they said, some thought he was cursed by Sheogorath."

"Who was so threatened by her that they needed to have the certainty of her death?" Mercer pondered. "Someone who knew she was with Falmer, surely that was enough, why did they need the involvement of assassins? Were they afraid she would escape? Or did they simply need to know without a doubt that she was dead?"

"Maybe they wanted to set her free," Cynric suggested with a dark look. "To give her the peace of death as it was the only peace they felt she could safely have."

Mercer, too mistrustful by nature to have considered that someone's motive might be sympathy or mercy, gritted his teeth in frustration and snapped, "no one knows a damn thing about her! Every clue is just a thousand more questions!"

Amaris' eyes shot open at Mercer's yelling and rolled about in her sockets briefly before they fluttered and she let out a groan. She felt heavy, tired and dizzy still and her nostrils burned with the stench of rotted meat and vomit, her throat was dry and all she could see was Quintus' screaming face.

Cynric hastened to her as he saw her eyes widen once more and her lip tremble. He reached out a hand to her burning brow and stroked it briefly with a tender smile. "You're safe," he murmured knowing it was useless now to insist that her memories were just nightmares.

"I know," she retorted coolly, "at least for now but how long can it last?"

Cynric shrugged with a grin. "How long can it last for any of us?" he queried calmly.

She pushed herself upright and forced back some of her tangled locks from her sweat stained face , her sleep had been empty of dreams and yet she did not feel any better for it though she knew she could not sleep anymore.

"It's only the early evening," Cynric informed her, "so the merchants should still be trading, let's get you some new clothes and find somewhere in the inn for you to bathe." His grin widened slightly as his eyes sparkled with just a hint of mischievousness. "The stench of the wilderness is starting to linger on you."

Amaris frowned at the thief before glancing down at herself sheepishly, knowing that he was right. 'He's putting it mildly,' she thought dryly before nodding as he leaned back to allow her to swing her legs around the bed. "Let's go then," she said quietly as she stood up. She could feel Mercer's disapproving gaze on them and knew that he would be coming too; the man was practically her shadow these days. It should have been suffocating but in truth it was a comfort, at least it meant if the Falmer found her again someone would come. 'Will I ever be unguarded?' she wondered wistfully as she followed Cynric out of the room.

Cynric led them through to the main bar area where Marcurio was leaning against the wall talking to the Nord bard. He spotted the three and immediately headed towards them, giving Amaris a look of concern. "How are you?" he queried quietly.

"Fine," the redhead assured the mage. "What happened...well it's in the past, I can't change it now," she said in a deliberately detached manner, "it was just a shock remembering it again."

The Imperial made his doubt clear on his face though he did not contest her words, instead he quipped, "and where are you going?"

"To get some clothes and provisions," Cynric answered smoothly, "you can come if you want."

Marcurio looked pointedly at the stained windows where the heavy rain that struck the rooftop loudly was visible, sharp, glistening spatters of icy water erupted into blurred streaks against the panes. "I'll pass," he answered calmly, "try not to get too wet."

"Where's the fun in that?" Cynric retorted merrily before turning and leading the way to the door.

Amaris followed after the thief with Mercer close behind her, irritable that he had to face the rain again, unnecessarily in his opinion, and yet unwilling to trust the girl to Cynric. 'She does need clothes,' he thought to himself with a scowl, 'and that stench is almost unbearable but she and we have put up with it for this long, it could have waited until morning.' He looked pointedly at Cynric's back as he led them out into the heavy, almost deafening downpour. 'I almost regret not letting Maven send him to the Mines, it might have done him good and given me peace.'

As the village was small it thankfully did not take them long to find its only shop, a two storey building, made of stone on the bottom and an extension of wood on the top complete with a wooden balcony, supported by thick timber columns, which also held up part of the thatched roof. The worn sign, made of a wooden arch hanging from rusting chain hoops with faded yellow paint naming it and steel scales hanging from below it, swung noisily in the faint breeze, the creak of the chains barely audible above the raindrops beating against it.

Cynric hugged his soaked hood closer about his face as he paused for a moment to glimpse at the sign before leading the way in.

The traders, a female Imperial in her twenties and an older male, looked at the arrivals in surprise. "You're soaked!" the woman exclaimed as she eyed the mud they traipsed in on their boots with mild disgust. When Cynric pushed back his soggy hood and gave his hair a shake the woman's sharp face immediately seemed to brighten up. "Quick," she urged him as she met his vibrant cerulean stare, "stand by the fire."

Cynric gave her a charming smirk before taking a step towards the small cluster of amber tinged golden flames that were starting to devour large logs resting in a modest sized hearth of stone. The shop was well lit with not just the fire but candles and candelabras of horn resting on the wooden shelf above the fire, the shop's counter, and a wooden table. On the counter wheels of cheese and cheap green bottles of wine rested as well as a large, glittering claw of solid gold. Amaris looked at the claw with fascination, to her it somehow seemed terrible and beautiful all at once and she wondered if it was merely decoration or served some higher purpose.

"You're new in town," the woman said to Cynric happily as she took a step towards him, "I can tell."

"Really?" Mercer quipped dryly. "Could it be because only a cluster of people live in this miserable hole?"

Cynric gave a chuckle at this as the Imperial male immediately folded his arms and frowned at the master thief. The woman was ignorant to the jibe, but whether it was deliberate or she had simply not heard it was hard to tell. "I'm Camilla Valerius," she introduced with a smile, "and this is my brother Lucan." She turned back slightly to the scowling male, who had stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing to him with one hand.

The resemblance was obvious; they both had the same swarthy skin, glossy dark hair, small, watchful, brown eyes, and average good looks and carried themselves in the same haughty manner. Camilla's brown hued locks were brushed back carefully from her face and ensnared in an elaborate bun that hung low at the back giving the impression of a bob from the front, her cheeks were blushed, her lips shimmered with gloss and her eyelids lidded with a soft, purple tinge. It was obvious she took pride in her appearance despite dwelling in a simple village shop.

"Welcome to the Riverwood Trader," Lucan commented, trying to sound as welcoming as he could though his eyes remained full of suspicion. He turned his unfavourable stare on the bedraggled Amaris and immediately decided that not only did he not want to learn anything about the strangers but that he did not want them dirtying his store any longer than necessary. "What can we help you with?" he queried bluntly.

"Clothes," Cynric answered as he grinned harmlessly at the older man, "for our friend here." He gestured to Amaris who did not flinch at the looks of revulsion she received from Lucan and Camilla.

Mercer paced about the shop floor with a bored expression, eyeing the odds and ends with displeasure. 'At least this place is dry even if there's nothing useful in it,' he thought bitingly.

"We don't sell clothes," Lucan answered bluntly, "just food, drink, potions, trinkets, odds and ends."

Cynric sighed though his grin remained as he turned his attention back to Camilla. "That's a shame," he said softly, "if we could even barter for some." He looked Camilla up and down, letting his intense blue stare lock with her uneasy yet hopeful stare. "I cannot imagine anyone as beautiful as you has anything but the finest of clothes but if there's just one item or two you could spare, for the right coin of course."

"Your friend is shorter than my sister," Lucan commented rudely, "and my sister's dresses are not designed for wear, tear and filth, they would be impractical and ill-suited for you," he addressed Amaris frostily.

Amaris looked at him coldly and prepared to retort but Cynric spoke up smoothly before she could. "I would agree but we cannot find more practical clothes and I would rather my friend had something fresh and clean than nothing at all." He turned his stare back on Camilla who flushed at the intensity of it. "You would be doing us a huge favour," he said warmly, "and I would be very grateful for it."

Camilla smiled, unable to help herself and nodded. "I'm sure I can find something I won't miss too much," she said brightly. "Give me a moment."

"Many thanks," Cynric said with a slight nod.

Camilla headed for the stairs; purposefully ignoring her brother's disapproving glower. As she headed up the wooden steps Mercer was quick to pocket some ornate bauble of crystal and gold plating and a small pouch of coin.

Lucan looked at the three mistrustfully before stepping back behind the counter and placing his right hand down firmly on the golden claw. Normally he was welcoming to strangers, eager to have their trade as it gave him new stock and fresh coin but Mercer made him uneasy, Cynric's casual flirtation with his sister irritated him and Amaris' stench had him all but retching and fearful that the odour might linger in his shop if she did not leave soon.

The four shared an awkward silence for just under ten minutes before an impatient Lucan went to the foot of the stairs and shouted up, "Camilla hurry up, our customers are waiting!"

A flustered Camilla appeared at the top with a small bundle, it had been harder than she had thought to decide what to part with. "I'm coming now," she called back down with a slight frown. She returned to her room to place back a pair of green, silk shoes she thought far too fanciful for the pasty faced woman down below. Surely a simple dress was generous enough but then she did not want the man thinking her stingy. 'I haven't even gotten his name,' she realised as her cheeks reddened again at the thought of his handsome, dark stubbly face. She seized an old hooded cloak she had tossed on her bed, it was frayed at the bottom and hadn't been worn by her in a long time, the initial white had darkened and stained to a dove grey and the silver embroidery had faded and come undone in several places. Decision made, she hurried back to the stairs, hoping the man would see how gracious she was.

"Here," she said as she held the small bundle out to Cynric.

Amaris shook her head slightly in exasperation, did the woman find her too filthy to interact with or did she simply forget that there were people other than Cynric in the room? 'Well he is handsome,' the redhead admitted to herself, 'in a rough way, and charming when he wants to be but still, he's hardly in need of a dress.'

Cynric accepted the bundle with a gracious smile as Lucan commented moodily, "I suppose you'll need a cover for those, no good them getting destroyed in the rain even if they will get wrecked later by your travels."

"If you'd be so kind," Cynric said with a smirk as he followed Lucan back to the counter and rested the clothes on it. As Lucan busied himself with hunting out some paper to wrap the garments in Cynric shamelessly pocketed a couple of lock picks and a piece of charcoal. Once the clothes were wrapped he sat a small, brown, leather pouch of copper and silver coin onto the counter. "For your trouble," he remarked before lifting the parcel. He turned from the counter and gave Camilla another smile and a wink.

"Don't be a stranger," she called to him.

"We'd rather if it's all the same," Mercer grumbled as he pushed Amaris to the door.

Cynric laughed as he led the way back out into the wild rain and hurried back to the inn. The streets were empty save for a few sad eyed cats and brave crows; everyone was indoors avoiding the rain, which had grown heavier turning puddles into ponds and the roads to squelching swamps of mud. The three were equally relieved when they walked and waded through the worst of it and made it back to the heat of The Sleeping Giant Inn. Now all of them were caked in mud up to their knees and dripping from head to toe, their hair plastered to their icy faces with water and their clothes soaked right through and dripping fresh puddles onto the wooden floor.

"You all look like you need a bath," Delphine addressed them firmly.

"That was the next part of the plan," Cynric answered her jovially.

"I daren't ask what plan," Delphine retorted coolly as she narrowed her pale stare. "Come with me, we have a washing room, it's not much but it's better than you dripping mud everywhere."

She turned sharply on one heel leading them to the right of the inn, down a corridor, through a door and down a set of steps to a room slightly warmer than the rest. It had two large wooden basins in the centre; both half full of steaming water, beside them were four buckets of water, two bars of yellowing soap and a single towel. On a wooden stack of shelves pressed against the back wall were some more towels, grubby and worn but still usable, a brush missing some bristles, a cracked comb and a small, dusty mirror. "As you can see you have good timing," Delphine remarked calmly, "we like to brew our baths in the early evening for guests and we don't tend to change the water until the morning."

"Thanks," Cynric said.

Delphine nodded as she prepared to go, looking keenly at Amaris and then Mercer. 'Are they going to bathe at the same time?' she wondered. 'Well they do share a room but they hardly act like a couple.' She frowned briefly at Cynric before turning for the stairs and heading towards them. 'And where do he and the mage fit into it?' she wondered. 'I hope they're not...into something weird.' She shuddered at the thought as she hurried back to the bar.

"You wash first," Cynric informed Amaris as he placed her bundle of clothes down on a nearby stool. "I'll wait upstairs, I could do with a drink and I've brought the muck in already, so I may as well spread it about." He did not bother to suggest Mercer accompany him, knowing well enough by now that the thief was adamant that the girl would remain in his sight. 'Makes sense after what happened with the Falmer,' Cynric thought as he followed after Delphine, 'but then again, I don't think it's likely that there's one hiding in the tub, surely she'd be safe enough to take a bath alone. There's no way for them to get in or her to get out without us noticing.'

Keeping his thoughts to himself, the thief grinned at Delphine's curious look before ordering himself a bottle of mead and joining Marcurio at his two seater table in the corner near the bard. "Where's Amaris?" the mage queried swiftly.

"Getting bathed," Cynric retorted jovially as he sat down and took a sip from his bottle.

Marcurio frowned slightly and narrowed his eyes. "And Mercer?" he growled out.

"Also getting bathed," Cynric answered chirpily. "Don't worry, I'm sure he won't sneak a peek," he teased.

Marcurio's frown deepened and he snapped, "that's not funny. Why did you leave them alone?"

"Would you prefer we all bathed together then?" Cynric questioned teasingly. "Wouldn't you feel left out?"

"I would prefer we all washed privately," Marcurio grumbled, knowing that the thief was just trying to goad him.

Cynric gave a short laugh. "Yes, well Mercer is determined to keep Amaris in his sight but don't worry, he doesn't see her as an object of affection, just treasure."

Marcurio shook his head in obvious disapproval. "She's not an object," he chided.

Cynric shrugged. "She's a grown woman and Mercer made no pretence about why he was coming with her to Solitude, if she finds his motives offensive she can tell him."

"What about you?" Marcurio demanded as he leaned across the table to be heard better. "What's your motive?"

"Mercer's the boss," Cynric answered happily, "and I just do what I'm told, also, I thought following a thin lead across the dangerous lands of Skyrim to solve a stranger's amnesia could be fun."

"You're full of it," Marcurio remarked scornfully.

Back in the underground washing room Amaris was preparing to strip for her bath. She tugged off her ruined garments with some ease and left them in a small, mud soaked pile beside a tub before lifting a bar of soap and climbing into the tub. Mercer was slightly startled by her swift undressing but recalled that he had seen it all before. He eyed the still healing wound on her lower back, now soft and red, turning to a pink scar, and the fresher wounds on her shoulders, deep but also healing. She was still a bony thing, with tangled hair now brown with dirt and skin smudged with muck, bruising and dried blood.

"Aren't you going to ask me to leave?" he growled at her, daring her to do it.

"No," she answered calmly, "I know you won't and I don't care. I know I'm just a means to treasure to you but I don't mind, I'm glad for your help whatever your motives, without you I know I'd be worse off."

'She's so practical about it,' he thought dryly as he folded his arms and frowned. 'I suppose given what we know of her past, being with thieves is a joy in comparison. Well more fool her for accepting it and not striving for better, still she is right, she'd probably be dead or worse if she hadn't found me.'

"I hope I don't let you down," she murmured as she sat in the tub, "and that you can make some profit for me, that I'm valuable to someone somewhere but not to them, not to my captors, even if it means I'm eternally in debt to you I won't go back to them."

"I wouldn't make you," he grumbled, offended that she would even suggest it. "I doubt the Falmer have enough sanity to make trades and even if they did, I wouldn't trade a person to them for gold."

Amaris turned her head slightly over her shoulder to look at him keenly with her mismatched eyes. "Even for all the treasure of Skyrim? They're underground, deep with Dwemer treasures, though you're probably right, they don't have the sense to make trades. They would just take me and kill you if you were in their way, they're monsters."

"Look, I won't trade you back to the Falmer, alright," he snapped in irritation. "Now, we'll get to Solitude and if it turns out you are just runaway thief or beggar I will cut my losses and leave you but we both know that won't be the case. You were running from someone when you met the mage and it can't have been Falmer, you could not have escaped from the twice, and they do not have it in them to pursue one individual above ground, not unless they were being made to." He paused at that thought, it had occurred to him before that someone or something was controlling the Falmer, that they had been ordered or forced to restrain Amaris but never kill her, as their nature should have driven them to, and apparently this assassin Kester as well, he had been captured by them but spared death. It was not in the nature of the fallen elves to think things through, to consider hostages; yes they kept some captives alive to torture but never for longer than a month, certainly not years.

Amaris nodded agreeably before she began to rub the bar of soap along her stained arms.

"Anyway," Mercer grumbled as he looked to the floor, "I'll wait upstairs." He turned and headed up the stairs slowly, confident that they were the only way in and out of the washing room. He did not go through the door there but instead paused and seated himself on the top step; he was out of view but could still hear the faint sloshing of the water.

Amaris knew he was still there, she had not heard the door opening, and for some reason she was happier for it. She wanted him to be near, just in case, a foolish notion given the walls were thick enough and had no cracks in them and there were no holes in the floor, it was a secure enough room but still, she knew she could not relax without someone close. She hurried with her bath, wanting to feel clean and yet not wanting the other bath to get too cold for the others though she doubted they would mind, guessing a hot bath was as much a rarity and luxury for them as it was for her.

Finished, she took a moment to dry off and rake the brush through her tangled locks as best she could. As she tried to tame her once more coppery waves she thought on Mercer's words. 'Are the Falmer being controlled by someone? He's right, there has to be someone or something else behind all of this, perhaps they were connected to Kester and Quintus? No, that's wrong, it wasn't...they...' She struggled over the thought, fighting against images of Quintus' bloody form and Kester screaming. 'Kester told me, but what did he say? Mercy.' That one word stuck in her head, Kester saying it to her, screaming it at the Falmer, pleading it for Quintus, but what memory was the right one? Were they all right? Had the assassins come to her as a form of mercy but then who had told them to do it?

She shook her head in frustration, lowered the comb and finally turned her attention to her new clothes. Camilla had sold her, or Cynric rather, a thin vest of cream silk, a short sleeved, long dress of faded forest green that was designed temptingly low at the bust and tight at the waist, though on Amaris' too thin and almost boyish body it just sagged, a pair of worn, brown, leather boots with greying socks, and a hooded cloak of formerly white grey with silver embroidery that had come undone in several places. She fastened the dress as tightly as she could, pulling the laces as far as they would go but still there was a gap at the waist and an unflattering reveal of the vest, and it pooled at her feet, a couple of inches too long even with the boots on. Giving up, she folded the cloak over her left arm and ascended the stairs at last.

"You're too thin," Mercer scorned her when he saw how the dress hung off her.

"Mercy," she said to Mercer calmly as she disregarded his scorn, "Kester and Quintus came out of mercy, I remember that much."

Mercer grey eyes widened just a fraction. 'Cynric was right,' he thought coldly, 'but who ordered them to her and why reveal it was a mercy kill? To inspire them? No, the assassins are no nobler than thieves, their motivation was coin but who had enough to send them into the Falmer's pit? If they were told it was a mercy kill it was only so they could tell Amaris that in turn. There is definitely some value to the girl, no doubt now but how much and who holds it?'

"Is that all you remember?" he queried coolly.

She nodded. "If there's more I'll let you know. You should wash now, I'll wait here."

He frowned a little, reluctant to have her any further from him, free to wander the inn and flee from them. 'No she won't do that,' he told himself, 'we're all she's got, the worry is someone taking her.' "Go to Cynric and the mage," he instructed her, "and stay with them."

Amaris held her shock back from her face, was the master thief finally trusting her to stay close? 'He must realise I've no desire to leave him or the others,' she thought, 'and that I'm too afraid to be alone now that I know that the Falmer can find me.' She nodded again. "Alright." She turned and opened the door, heading back to the main area of the inn, hoisting up the dress to walk quicker. She was relieved to find Cynric and Marcurio, now merry with drink and singing, or rather attempting to, along with the bard.

She bumped into a tall, muscular Nord as she hastened to them and immediately apologised when he turned to face her.

His pale grey eyes flashed with mirth as he retorted, "think nothing of it." He studied her curiously and quipped, "you look familiar, have we met?"

Amaris shook her head as she stared up at him; he was at least six feet tall, young and blonde with a warrior's body though he was not dressed for battle. He wore a simple brown tunic with a sword fastened to his belt and a telltale discoloured and tattered blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders and chest, the rest left to hang at an angle down the front of his body. 'Stormcloak,' Amaris thought with a bristle, unsure why she should bear them any hostility.

"Ah but you're a stranger in town," he guessed, "hmm wait, could you be the scruffy girl my sister Gerdur was talking about?" He grinned widely at her flashing crooked white teeth that only managed to add to his pleasing yet coarse looks. "Did you pay young Frodnar for the keep of your horses?"

Amaris recalled the name, the boy with the dog and the startled woman who had only lost some of her caution when she had seen Amaris' helpless appearance. She nodded briskly and said quietly, "yes, that was me. I and my friends are very grateful to have found somewhere for our horses," she added sincerely.

The man nodded before reaching out a large hand. "I'm Ralof," he introduced.

She accepted his hand with her much slender one and answered calmly, "I'm Amaris."

He raised a pale blonde eyebrow at her words and shook his head. "Your accent," he murmured, "it's strange, are you from Skyrim?"

She nodded but did not elaborate.

Ralof, guessing that she would not explain, did not press on the matter and instead released her hand and queried, "will you be in Riverwood long?"

"Just until tomorrow," she answered truthfully, recalling that Cynric had said as much to Gerdur so a lie might only cause problems.

"Well that's a pity, it's a wonderful village," Ralof commented happily, "not that I will be here for long myself, the Stormcloaks need me. Anyway, could I buy you a drink? You really do look familiar you know, have you come to Riverwood before?"

"Perhaps a while ago," Amaris confessed, "I do not recall, maybe when I was young." She saw the confusion building on the Nord's face and gave a gentle smile. "I would like a drink," she said, distracting him from her puzzling answer.

His smile widened. "Good, let's go to the bar then." He stepped away from her, leading the way to the bar and giving Marcurio a glimpse of her.

'I wonder who that is,' the mage pondered as he eyed the copper haired woman in the ill-fitted green dress. His dark eyes immediately enlarged when she cocked her head a fraction in his direction and he realised she was no stranger. "There's Amaris," he hissed.

"Huh?" Cynric queried dumbly, unable to take his attention away from the busty barmaid serving them.

Marcurio leaned across the table and nipped the thief's right arm causing him to give a yelp and the barmaid to giggle. The thief glowered at the mage and snapped, "what?"

Marcurio gestured wildly to Amaris following the imposing blonde male to the bar. "Amaris," he retorted anxiously, "and she was talking to that man."

"So?" Cynric queried with a frown. "Sheesh mage she's allowed to talk to other people you know."

"He could be dangerous," Marcurio answered hotly.

Cynric snickered. "I doubt it, besides, she's a bright girl, and she won't leave the inn and neither will we, so she's safe." His blue eyes glimmered with a sudden hint of malice before filling with glee. "Unless of course you're jealous, is that it? I suppose then you should worry, he's a good looking guy." He let out another loud laugh as Marcurio flushed red and flustered at him.

"It's not like that," the mage snapped, "maybe once but...not now, I don't...gah!" He gave up realising that Cynric was already ignoring him and had returned to chatting with the barmaid who did not seem to mind that the thief was smeared in muck and in need of a good bath.

Mercer, who took less time than Amaris to wash, soon arrived in the main room, dry and clean though he remained scruffy with his unkempt greying hair, and stubble steadily forming a moustache and beard. He spotted Amaris at the bar with the Nord and frowned pointedly at the mage and Cynric though they were both ignorant to it, now bickering for the attention of a second barmaid. Marcurio was eager to prove that he was not jealous of the blonde Nord and was soon heard yelling loudly at Cynric, "I am not intimidated by tall men and how dare you insinuate that I am small in other regions!"

Cynric immediately burst into hysterical laughter as the barmaid giggled and Marcurio turned scarlet.

Mercer grumbled a curse to himself before heading to the bar where Amaris had just finished the drink Ralof had bought for her and was trying to deflect his curious questions.

"I can't put my finger on it," Ralof murmured, "but there's something about you. You must be related to someone I know," he insisted, "or a friend of someone, ah I suppose it doesn't matter," he relented, "maybe you just remind me of someone."

Amaris smiled politely and murmured, "I'm sure that's it." 'Is it?' she wondered. 'How could I know? This is so frustrating, what if this is a clue? How can I tell if it is or it's just a coincidence?' She filled with frustration though she tried to hide it as she looked up at Ralof. "Thank you for the drink," she said sincerely, "I should join my friends now."

Ralof nodded even as he placed a hand under his chin and rubbed with a puzzled expression. "You're welcome," he said at last, "come talk to me again if your friends are boring you."

She grinned at this and gave a small laugh. "I will." She turned round to spy Cynric and Marcurio and groaned when she realised that the awful, out of tune warbling she had been trying to block out was coming from them. The pair were now on their feet, their arms around the reluctant bard who they had sandwiched between them as they began to sing loudly to his tune, Cynric adding some crude lyrics of his own.

"The scourge of Skyrim," Mercer commented sardonically in her right ear, "the Falmer wouldn't stand a chance."

Amaris smiled at this and jested, "their singing alone would send the Falmer scurrying back to their caves."

Mercer only just managed to stop a grin from slipping out at this. "Indeed," he grumbled. "Let's get something to eat." He led the way over to a free table and Amaris accompanied him. Neither of them were surprised that it was Delphine who chose to serve them. 'If she's just a barmaid I'm an honest worker,' Mercer thought to himself cynically as he ordered of her.

Amaris was careful to avoid the meat dishes, accepting another offer of soup with some crusty bread rolls instead. She winced as the other bar patrons actually started to clap along to Cynric, Marcurio and the bard instead of heckle them into silence. 'This is going to be a long night,' she thought to herself.


	12. Chapter 12- The Lures of the Night

They reached the city of Whiterun, capital of the Whiterun Hold, in a cool, damp twilight. It had taken them two days and a night of travelling, with delays thanks to a bandit attack, an encounter with some suspicious Stormcloaks and further hold-ups at two farms that Cynric and Mercer had shamelessly burgled food, coin and some new clothes for Amaris from. The city was built on a bluff; it was large group of buildings weaving up the hillside guarded by stone walls and fortification. It was a city ready for battle.

Amaris' breath was nearly taken away by the giant structure that dominated the city, towering high above it all. It looked like a castle made from wood and stone, it stretched out and up with many thatched roofs and numerous windows and doors, it was aloof and imposing, more impressive than Mistveil Keep. It had clearly started out as a much smaller structure and even from their point of view at the bottom of the city that was obvious, other parts of the building seemed to grow out and around this original edifice with stone walls and wooden posts being late additions to support these new rooms.

They stopped at the modest stables which sat on the outskirts of the city. There were two horses already dwelling there, both of them were black and shaggy with big, brown eyes. A Nord leaning against a wooden post by the entrance immediately stood upright and came forward to greet them. "Greetings travellers, looking for a place to keep your steeds?"

Cynric nodded amicably as they dismounted from Frost and Robert. "Yes, they need fed, watered and rested."

The man nodded eagerly before turning his head to face a younger man who was stroking the muzzle of one of the black steeds. "Jervar!" he called to him sharply. "Come and help!"

The man came over with an obvious look of reluctance. He was dressed in worn farmer garments that were in need of both a wash and fresh stitching. He fumbled with the loose, red hat on his head as he eyed Frost in awe. "That's a fine stallion," he murmured.

"Yes, yes," the older Nord commented dismissively, "get them stabled." He smiled back at Cynric and the others. "It's fifty Septim for the night per horse, so a hundred Septim a night in your case. Oh, and if you're interested in purchasing another I've got the fleetest steeds in all o' Skyrim."

"We'll keep that in mind, thanks," Cynric said appreciatively as he hunted out a large pouch of gold.

The man nodded as he accepted the pouch with a smile. "Good, well enjoy your stay in Whiterun."

"We will," the thief assured before he turned to begin their climb up and into the city.

Naturally it was guarded though none of the guards queried their business as they passed through the towering double wooden doors set in the stone wall and into the main city. It was lit by several torches glowing in bronze and steel braziers and spaced out throughout the city, which was still busy as dusk turned to a clear night and the beautiful, wavering green, blue and turquoise aurora began to appear.

"What a lovely night," Marcurio marvelled as he glanced up, seeing the faint smudges of light appear against the darkening sapphire and violet sky.

Amaris followed the wizard's gaze and let out a gasp of surprise that was loud enough to cause two passing Redguards to look her way. "Ww...what...what is that?" she stammered hoarsely. It was a wondrous spectacle of light and colour that shifted and shimmered even before her naked gaze.

Cynric chuckled and Marcurio smiled at her naivety while Mercer wondered if she really hadn't seen it before. 'She spent possibly six years underground,' he thought to himself, 'there's no sky there, could she have forgotten it in that time? Of course she travelled with the mage for two years, so she must have seen it then, what a strange thing to forget.'

"It's the aurora," Cynric commented carelessly, "just another piece of the sky like the stars and Secunda and Masser. Sometimes it's there and sometimes it's not."

"The stars and sun are said to be the windows to Aetherius," Marcurio explained as he looked at Amaris, "holes punctured by Aedra escaping from Mundus."

"Fanciful notion," Mercer sneered as they walked through the city.

It was a neat and well off place with cobbled streets and numerous buildings all in similar style, made of wood with the same high, pointed roofs, timber posts and tough oak tiling. Some of them had shallow, stone walls bordering them and most had either stone, wood or a combination of both, steps leading up to their single doors. They were all of better quality than the homes of Riverwood, even the shabbier looking buildings made the best of Riverwood's look like rundown shacks. The places of business had metal signs hanging out from the side of their walls, and a few houses had what passed for gardens. A set of stone steps to their left led up to another layer of the city but they ignored them and kept walking, heading past a blacksmith's towards a collection of wooden stalls that had closed for the evening and indicated the marketplace, it was much like Riften's though this one looked bigger.

"Let's go to the Bannered Mare," Marcurio suggested, "it's the only inn in the city and a good tavern." Hearing no objections he started to lead the way to the popular inn. It was another large building of wood settled on a small mound with four wooden horses' heads carved and resting on three points of its roof and a signpost positioned at the front in a wooden frame showing an armoured man with a rams horned helmet on a rearing brown stallion, carrying a flag on a spear with the words 'Bannered Mare' painted on it in red. Bigger and better built than The Sleeping Giant Inn it was still inferior to The Bee and Barb.

As they neared the door, which was lit up with two blazing braziers on either side of it, they could already hear joyful talking, bickering, singing and shouting leaking out through the timber walls. Mercer gave a low growl of displeasure as Amaris rolled her eyes, and Cynric grinned. "No drinking," Mercer snarled suddenly.

"Oh come on," Cynric complained, "just a couple."

"No," the Guild Master retorted sharply to the thief's back, "I don't want to endure your cat's wailing for another night."

"But I haven't touched a drop of ale since Riverwood," Cynric lamented as Marcurio opened the door.

Inside, the crowded inn proved to be a large, tastefully decorated hall with wooden columns painted with blue rings inside which black swirls had been inked out, a stag's proud head adorning the back wall, and colourful plates of red and blue hanging on other walls, some with feathers dangling from them. There were also several stools, chairs and tables, the bar area itself and most appealing of all, a large fire blazing in the centre of the room, set in the middle of the floor with several benches around it. The place had a kitchen just glimpsed to the left and stairs leading up to the bedrooms and a balcony of rafters from which a couple of drunks laughed and sang. Cynric eyed them with immediate envy and gave Mercer a hopeful glimpse, which he found soured by a scolding glare.

The master thief, not wanting to give Marcurio or Cynric a chance to be tempted, led the way to the bar where the busy inn owner bustled about with a single waiter. Mercer scowled impatiently as the woman rushed to attend order after order as patrons called for more drink, bar snacks and late suppers. The proprietor, a redheaded Nord in her fifties, grinned tiredly as she hurried from patron to patron.

Cynric sighed and instead chose to vie for the attentions of the flustered Redguard barmaid whilst Marcurio tried to manoeuvre closer to the fire. Amaris followed after the mage, looking about the busy inn as she did, taking in its many patrons. There were several warriors and rogues, tired looking workers, merchants from the marketplace she supposed, a trio of tough looking warriors in armour, the men both tall with dark hair and shadows about their eyes, and the woman a fierce looking brunette in a fur tunic and black slash marks painted down her face, and a couple of upper class patrons who made an effort to keep their distance from everyone else. The trio looked uncomfortable and yet determined to remain where they were, glowering away any drunk foolish enough to get too close to them.

The redhead spotted one man seated in a corner with one hand gripping a tin mug; he looked tense and more out of place than the trio. He was young, clean shaven and well dressed with a long mustard coat belted over a long sleeved shirt with gold cuffs and brown trousers that were tucked into brown, polished boots with gold lacing criss-crossed over them. At his chest a gold embroidered waistcoat was revealed and the high brown collar of his shirt from which a single teardrop pearl hung. He was trying and failing to be inconspicuous, not helped by the rough looking Imperial guard who hovered near him.

The man glanced Amaris' way and spotted her staring, she was hesitant to look away knowing she was being rude and was surprised when he gave her a faint smile causing her cheeks to blush faintly. Fair skinned with carefully combed back thick, dark brown almost black hair and an intelligent chocolate brown gaze, he was attractive though in a restrained fashion.

Cynric, who had sneakily ordered some mead off the Redguard woman who, like many women, had been sucked in by his vibrant blue eyes, noticed Amaris staring at the awkward looking Breton and immediately shuffled over to Marcurio and elbowed him. "Look," he whispered into the mage's ear teasingly, "Amaris is falling for another tavern patron. Don't worry though, this one isn't a strapping Nord, just a rich Breton, you shouldn't be too threatened."

Marcurio turned to Cynric with a scowl and refused to even follow his gaze and rise to the bait. "Good for her," he said haughtily instead.

Cynric snickered. "Maybe she just likes men who drink," he joked.

"Then why hasn't she swooned over you yet?" the mage quipped bitingly. "Your criminal ways must be too off putting."

"Only to you," Cynric retorted with a smirk, "if I wanted her to succumb to my charms she would have," he bragged.

Marcurio shook his head in despair before turning his attention back to the Imperial merchant he had been discussing potions with. Though it concerned him that Amaris was once again responding to the attentions of a stranger he knew he could not be over reactive about it. Not every stranger was a threat and she was a grown woman and sensible enough to know the risks she faced.

When the Breton gestured his guard to his ear level and whispered something to him, Amaris felt a jolt of alarm and immediately turned away, wondering if her staring had offended or unnerved him. She looked for Cynric or Marcurio and finally located the thief discussing wares with some merchants. She swept back a strand of her coppery brown mane, which she had left to hang loose until Mercer had given her an ornate copper and green hair band to decorate it with and hold it back from her brow. It had come from one of the farm houses along with a much plainer and more practical dress to wear, a shirt, a tunic and new shoes. She now donned the plain navy dress along with Camilla's boots and the worn hooded cloak, which was bound at her throat with a silver clasp hiding most of her from view.

"Would you care to join me for a drink?" the question was stilted and quiet, as if the speaker regretted it the moment it left his mouth. It was still audible and sudden enough to cause Amaris to jump slightly and turn to the man with wild eyes.

His own deep gaze seemed to spark slightly as he spied her mismatched orbs and he tensed a fraction more.

"I..." Amaris was at a loss for words; she had endured relentless teasing from Cynric after accepting a drink from Ralof and was reluctant to hear anymore taunts from the thief. It wasn't as if the Nord had even appealed to her in the way the thief implied. Also, Mercer had been clear about no drinking in the tavern but then that had not been to her and what was he doing at the bar anyway? 'It couldn't take this long to get a room,' she thought as she found herself nodding.

The man offered her another faint smile that vanished quickly before he glanced about the tavern almost nervously and finally led the way back to his cautious guard, who eyed Amaris with a heavy lidded suspicion. "Where are my manners?" the man remarked with an apologetic look as he pulled out a seat for Amaris and gestured her to sit. She flushed faintly again before sitting down and then staring into his dark eyes once more as he seated himself opposite her. "I am Amaund Motierre," he introduced, again speaking with an odd reluctance.

"Amaris," she retorted, "Amaris Hollyhorn." She gave the false name she had once offered Sibbi Black-Briar, hoping as she had with him, that Amaund did not happen to know any Hollyhorns.

At the bar Mercer's impatience was turning to an anger that he thought he might soon unleash if he did not get some attention. "Hey," a man beside him called out to the Nord woman, "can I have a drink here for myself and my friend." He gestured to Mercer earning a scowl of unveiled displeasure.

"Friend?" Mercer echoed coldly as the man grinned at him.

"Well you will be after I buy you a drink surely?" the man retorted jovially. He was somewhere in his early thirties, a well kept, plain dressed Breton with short brown hair, a clean shaven face and a sly smile. "Come on now," he urged, "you look like you could use one."

"Not tonight," Mercer grumbled even as two foaming cups were set before them. 'Now how come she noticed him?' he wondered as he frowned pointedly at the woman who seemed to ignore him as she snatched up the younger Breton's coin and hurried to a Nord calling for a pint.

"Ah I get it," the younger male commented teasingly, "you're too old for it now, can't handle it anymore, well that's alright."

"What?" Mercer snapped as he turned his glare on the man who only laughed. "Of course I can handle it."

"Sure, sure," the man said, "a quiet one by the fire I'm certain but not a real challenge. Don't worry, there are plenty of other would be challengers here."

"Challengers for what?" Mercer demanded.

The Breton grinned back at him coyly. "A drinking challenge of course," he exclaimed happily, "but like I said, I can see you're not up to it."

Mercer snatched up the cup set for him and downed it hastily before slamming it down on the bar angrily. "I don't lose easily," he said warningly.

The man's blue eyes filled with a mischievous spark. "I hope not," he retorted as he waved over the waiter. "Another two cups," he commanded before extending a hand to Mercer. "Shake on it and let the challenge begin."

Mercer accepted the hand and shook hard.

"I'm Sam by the way," the man introduced, "Sam Guevenne."

"Mercer Frey."

For twenty minutes Amaund and Amaris talked, it was mainly about trivial stuff neither revealing much about themselves to the other. It was strange but though Amaris was reluctant to share anything with the man out of caution she found herself eager to talk to him. Amaund was an edgy character who evidently had something else on his mind and yet at the same time he had made the effort to introduce himself to Amaris and was evidently trying to ignore whatever else was on his mind in an attempt to talk to her.

"Sir," Amaund's guard spoke up wearily at last, "it's getting late." He had been standing in silence for the twenty minutes looking about the inn with impatience and mistrust, eyeing each warrior as a potential threat and giving anyone who stumbled near them a glare than sent them stumbling back.

Amaund gave a soft sigh. "I suppose it is," he murmured.

Amaris' eyes filled with alarm as she wondered just how long they had been sitting talking. "My friends," she exclaimed. She half stood up before pausing with an apologetic look. "Sorry," she said sincerely, "I need to look for my friends." She then added shyly, "it was nice to meet you," before she turned from him into the crowd and tried to hunt for one of the three males.

She spied Mercer at last grinning proudly at a frustrated looking Breton. She noticed how the master thief was a little unsteady of his feet, his cheeks slightly flushed and the drink in his hand half splashing to the floor. 'He's been drinking,' she realised with mild amusement as she hastened towards him.

"I think one final drink," the young Breton who stood opposite the thief remarked with a sly smile. He seemed to produce a steel goblet from thin air and offered it to the Guild Master.

Mercer sat down his now empty mug clumsily, pushing several other cups across the table as he did before accepting the goblet with a look of distain. He stared down in the questionable purple contents and gave a slight sniff.

"Come on," Sam urged as he produced an identical goblet in his own hand, "one more drink to finish the contest, or are you bowing out already? No shame," he commented tauntingly, "you've done well for an older guy."

Mercer's lip curled up in anger at Sam's remark and he prepared to raise the goblet to his lips. He was less than impressed when the goblet was suddenly batted from his hands and its contents spilled down his tunic. He turned to give Amaris a glower though his eyes were a little less focused than usual. "And why didn't...did you feel the need to do that?" he questioned coldly, slurring his words slightly.

Sam looked to the woman with annoyance then curiosity as he took in her bony features, when she looked his way with accusing eyes that were of two colours his own blue gaze seemed to glow with suspicion.

"He pulled that goblet out of nowhere," Amaris accused, "it could've been poison!"

Mercer frowned. "Do you think that I..." He paused to give out an ill-suited burp that had Amaris stunned as she had not expected to see Mercer of all people drunk and openly crass. "The master thief, expert in all things crafty and sinister and...expert to most traps would fall over for such a trick?"

Amaris gave him a wilting stare and retorted cynically, "no of course not, it's not like you were just about to sip it or anything."

"It was just a drink," Sam spoke up at last with a mocking grin, "one which you are welcome to sample too." He held out a fresh goblet that Amaris quickly frowned at, scowling at Mercer when he immediately seized it.

Mercer glowered down at Amaris and snarled, "I know poisons and drink better than you and you shouldn't question me or..." He paused preparing to drink from the goblet when a merry Cynric and tired Marcurio flanked either side of him.

"What's going on over here?" Cynric queried happily as he looked from Mercer to Amaris and finally Sam.

"Ah new challengers," Sam spoke up confidently, "I think this calls for a pitcher."

"No!" Amaris snapped vehemently earning a look of displeasure from the Breton.

"Challengers for what?" Marcurio queried dumbly as he wondered why Amaris was so rattled by the man.

"A simple drinking contest, surely a pleasant enough game for a tavern," Sam answered cheerfully.

"Not for us," Amaris retorted sharply as she met his blue gaze. She tensed as something in his stare immediately filled her with fright, it was cold and full of malice, making it wonder if she had interrupted more than she realised.

"My challenges do not go unfinished," Sam said, turning his attention back to Mercer, "one more drink friend."

"Friend?" Cynric echoed with obvious doubt. He looked at Mercer and laughed. "You don't have friends!"

"Look it's late," Amaris said pleadingly as she looked at the scowling Mercer, "let's just go to bed."

"Why are you determined to interrupt a drinking competition?" Sam queried her in irritation. "It's harmless fun, let your companion finish it off and then be done with it."

Mercer looked at Amaris curiously wondering the same thing. 'Why is she determined to intrude?' he wondered rudely. 'But then why is he so determined to see it done? Did we bet money on this?' His mind was foggy on the details and he struggled to recall. 'Was there a wager?' He found himself lowering the goblet in frustration. 'Where did this come from?' he wondered as he looked at the purple drink again before setting it on the table. 'This is...strange.' He released the stem of the goblet and Sam let out a groan of frustration.

"I'm robbed then," he commented moodily with a glare of annoyance spared on Amaris once more. "Strange eyes you have," he told her icily, "very strange, noticeable, it wouldn't be hard to find you out."

Amaris stepped back nervously from the man as she wondered at Sam's cryptic words and shuddered when he gave her a teasing smile.

"Well we could have a wonderful and unforgettable night together," he informed them brightly, "but it seems my fun is best offered elsewhere." He looked to Mercer then and said, "you are too serious Mercer Frey and very untrusting but then in your position with your history, well the cup could have been poison." He let out a low chuckle and then smiled widely at the group. "Let's not end things so morbidly, let me buy a pitcher for you all." He grinned mockingly at Amaris and added, "I will buy it from the bar of course, you can blame our dear proprietor if anything is a miss."

Amaris was ready to protest again but a merry Cynric remarked, "that sounds like a good idea, after all the night is young."

Sam laughed jovially and nodded. "To the bar then friends." He turned and led the way, and Amaris found herself pushed along by Cynric.

Mercer followed with a scowl, more agreeable to the idea of the group drinking than he might have been thanks to already copious amounts of alcohol in his system. He was ruffled by Sam's barb but his mind was too dulled for him to properly consider how Sam would know of his history.

Sam summoned their elderly hostess with little effort despite how busy the bar was and ordered a pitcher of honeyed mead. With a sly smirk he stepped to one side purposely allowing Amaris a gap to slip into so that she could observe the woman filling the pitcher. "See," Sam commented to the redhead tauntingly, "there's nothing amiss here so you can drink without fear."

Amaris frowned, her suspicions still present even when Sam pushed the pitcher and goblets to her and suggested that she pour.

"Hurry it up," Cynric commented impatiently as Amaris stared at the pitcher with reluctance.

"One drink can't hurt," Marcurio remarked to her reassuringly.

She sighed, pushed back a stray coil of hair and lifted the pitcher at last and sloppily poured out a goblet for each of them. Sam seized his happily and lifted it to Mercer saying, "one final drink Mercer Frey to end or begin the night as it may be."

Cynric lifted his goblet keenly whilst Marcurio plucked his up calmly, Mercer grabbed his with a frown and Amaris lifted hers slowly as she sensed Cynric's urging gaze and Sam's mocking stare upon her.

They all drank swiftly finding the mead tantalising sweet upon the tongue but not sickening. It seemed to Amaris the finest honey she had tasted yet and for one brief moment there were flickers of a childhood with sticky fingers in a honey pot and suckling on bits of honeycomb, gifts not given as rewards but rather sympathetic treats, a comfort to a child sheltered even before she was imprisoned. She frowned at the memory but found herself unable to focus on it as her mind became dizzy and light and she found herself smiling and surprisingly welcoming Sam pouring yet another goblet for them all.

* * *

When Cynric awoke he immediately wished he hadn't, and kept his eyes closed in a futile attempt to pass out again. Alas the pain and waves of nausea were too much for the thief and he found himself tentatively opening one bloodshot and throbbing eye. It was mercifully dim and yet not dark enough and he found himself shutting his eye with a groan of pain. His tongue seemed swollen, tasting of honey, strawberry coated lips, and what he thought might be vomit, his head felt like it was stuffed with wool and simultaneously crowded with hammers pounding away at his skull, whilst his stomach was churning frantically and making more noise than a panicked sheep.

He tried again in vain to go back to unconsciousness, offering up a weak prayer for sleep or even a painless death, considering that it might be preferable to his current predicament. Accepting, after another few minutes of groaning and his stomach sloshing, that the Aedra weren't interested in mercy to a drunk, he opened both eyes at last, slowly and cautiously.

He realised as his eyes adjusted that he was lying in a barn, nude, his skin red and itching from the straw that had scratched at it with golden strands now tangled up in his hair. He rose as slowly as he could, all of his muscles immediately protesting at the movement, and looked about himself in confusion. Spying another form half-hidden in the straw he immediately tensed up. As he studied it quietly and in confusion, he found his heart pounding a little bit harder as he began to realise the form looked familiar. "WHAT IN BLOODY OBLIVION?!" he shrieked out causing the form to bolt up in terror.

Marcurio, mercifully robed, looked about with wild eyes before he realised the one who had awoken him was the very much naked Cynric.

The thief pointed at the mage accusingly and snapped, "rapist!" He slid back on the straw on his palms and rear, scuttling awkwardly as he glowered at Marcurio.

The normally kempt mage looked worse for wear, his skin had turned an odd shade of green, his formerly golden robes were now coloured with what might be dirt, ash, paint and clumps of bramble, wool and fur, his ponytail was free and his dark hair now hanging about him in limp, tangled strands, and he bore a large purple bruise beneath his left eye. He went to respond to Cynric's accusations but words failed him as he was forced to turn sharply to the left and upend the contents of his stomach.

"I always knew it!" Cynric continued to babble. "I was just jesting in The Sleeping Giant, but you took that thing about weekends seriously!"

"Don't be daft," Marcurio rasped out in annoyance at last as he wiped the vomit from his chin. "Even if I did suddenly decide to give up women you wouldn't be my choice, you're an ugly bastard," he scorned before vomiting again.

Cynric gave him a sulky look of insult and grumbled, "we both know that's not true, you'd be lucky to have me but I suppose," he confessed with a sigh, "I don't feel violated."

"Wonderful," Marcurio sneered as he rolled his eyes and rubbed them wearily. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, what in Oblivion happened and where are we?"

Cynric shrugged as he looked about for his clothes and was relieved to spot his trousers in a discarded pile beside a goat that looked at him curiously and bleated. As he tugged on his trousers he realised his pockets had a few items in them- a ring of tarnished gold, a half-eaten sweet roll, a small ball of wool and a crumpled up note. He smoothed out the note and squinted at the messy inked out scrawl before reading it aloud. "To Mercer Frey and his band of Merry Men and Suspicious Weird Eyed Woman, you lost the challenge so I couldn't let you get the whole way to Solitude, best wishes Sam." Cynric looked perplexed as he folded the note up and slipped it back into his pocket before scratching the stubble under his chin. "Well let's find out where we are," he suggested as he smiled faintly as the still very green looking Marcurio.

* * *

_Wow you guys have no idea how long I've had Sam's guest appearance planned! One of my favourite quests in Skyrim (and a lot of other people's I believe), I just could not resist doing this! It was a lot of fun to write, believe me and though I don't want to bore people with an extended filler, some of the missing evening will be discovered/recalled, don't worry!  
_

_Also the appearance of Amaund Motierre is important to the plot and yes I know in the game he doesn't appear in The Bannered Mare until after his quest is started and he looks dishevelled then but as I said, it's important to the plot to have him, without spoiling too much._

_As always all reviews and favourites are very much wanted and appreciated, it helps me improve the story to hear what bits people like and don't etc._


	13. Chapter 13- An Evening Lost

Mercer Frey was unsure what to think when he awoke tangled in the boughs of a tree, leaning forward a very high ledge. It was one of those very rare motives for the thief when he was genuinely perplexed. He kept himself still, taking in his surroundings and trying very hard to block out the migraine building at his temples and the blurry vision of stone made it clear that if he leaned the wrong way he was going to have a painful death. He frowned before slowly leaning backwards, off the branches and back onto a stone ledge. He turned away from the dizzying view and found a small stone wall behind him and behind it stone steps leading up to a beautiful carved building of dark granite with many engravings upon it, two golden doors at the front and bronze torch holders on either side of them, soft flames flickering in them despite the bright midday sun that shone down upon the stonework wonder. The building was balanced in the middle on a floor that extended back whilst on either side were columns supporting the rest of it implying that the floor below was much narrower. The faces in the walls, the arched roof above with a semi-circle made of a blue stained glass window with amber plates around it, and the decorations of parallel lines on the doors indicated that the building was a temple.

The thief swallowed down a mouthful of bile, pushed back some of his wild greying hair and stepped over the low wall and stumbled forward uneasily to the building, seeking its shade more than anything. The sun was unmerciful with its stinging white rays that made his eyes ache and his skull pound harder. His throat and mouth were dry, his mind a riddle of confusing memories and all he could focus on were his basic needs- shade, a place to urinate, and somewhere to get water.

He did not bother to knock on the doors but instead pushed down a handle and stepped in hastily, confident that even in his state he could handle any dangers a temple might present. He found himself in a chamber of columns of stone, gold and amber plating with faces carved into them, and statues of marbles depicting a nude woman with a voluptuous form, her arms raised above her, a large flower clutched into hands above her head and a cloak spilling behind her, pooling round to hide her navel. The inside of the building was all stone with intricate carvings on the walls, ceiling and floor, red tapestries hung from stone beams, flames in small glass boxes danced out of the walls and hanging from the ceiling were candles trapped in cages of bronze. On both sides of the chamber were stone tables built out of the walls with silver, brass and bronze dishes and cups, herbs, food provisions, potions, small statues and other trinkets littering them. In addition to that were some torn tapestries on the floor, upturned statues, cracked plates, a half-eaten cheese wheel, a squashed sweet roll, flower petals, and two mismatched shoes.

Mercer's eyes were drawn to the centre of the room, there, raised on a stone platform with four flames burning in bronze bowls around it and a small set of granite steps leading up to it, was a large but shallow octagon pool. Beside it a priestess robed in a brown tunic with a mustard cowl frowned. It was its contents that surprised the master thief.

In the middle of the pool a young woman clad in an expensive now thoroughly soaked dress of white lace, silver thread and pearl beading slumbered quite obliviously, and peacefully too if her loud snores were any indication of that. What concerned Mercer about her was not her beautiful and yet unfamiliar outfit or the obviously stolen tiara lying at an angle in her copper brown hair, it was the fact that he knew her and sensed that something about her appearance and location was a little more familiar than he wanted it to be.

The priestess nudged the woman rudely with her foot, earning a snort in response. She frowned, leaned down and gave her a harder push. When that too failed she opted for splashing some water at the woman's pale face. The redhead awoke with a startled yelp, splashing about in the pool for a few frantic seconds, dampening part of the priestess' robes as she did not manage to jump back in time.

"Well I'm glad you're finally awake," the priestess remarked sardonically in a Breton accent thicker with the dialect of High Rock than Skyrim. "Opting for having a bed and bath in one then? Well this isn't the place for that."

The woman looked at her in wild confusion before her bloodshot eyes darted about the room crazily until they spotted the thief. "Mercer?" she choked out, her voice hoarse as her throat burned.

The priestess glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her small blue eyes. "And here comes the groom," she commented dryly.

The woman, Amaris, let out something that sounded like a shriek crossed with a laugh. "Groom?" she stammered at last as she tried to stand up in the pool, finding it slippery beneath her feet and awkward thanks to the extra water weight her dress dragged up.

The priestess folded her arms as she turned back to the woman with a glower. "Oh yes, very romantic he is," she sneered. "Said something about the only way to shackle you to him without chains was marriage." She tutted pointedly and shook her head scornfully. "Well we wouldn't have permitted it, especially given it was the other man you entered hand in hand with but then your friend Sam found a priest of Mara, questionably sober mind, and he did insist," she gestured to Mercer with a careless wave. "Best way to keep you with him, that was the argument, ah yes," she turned to Mercer with an accusing frown, "I believe you said it would be the best way to keep your bride and her possible fortune to you without imprisonment and that as cruel as marriage was, you thought it would be worth the sacrifice." She shook her head again. "Honestly, such a notion to have in a Temple of Dibella, no guessing that you were all deep in your cups when that idea came but you had the coin, the witnesses, the priest and of course the amulet."

The priestess looked to the redhead this time and nodded at the copper necklace dangling against the woman's bare neck and partially exposed chest. "Your other friend gave you that," the priestess remarked coolly, "his wedding gift to you, he came in here singing about marriage and Mara, hand in hand with you." She spared yet another glare at Mercer and snapped, "I would think they were the ones to be wed but then you came up with your opinion about marriage and shackles and insisted on the service." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's blasphemous to be so fickle about marriage."

Amaris raised one palm to her head, pausing when a glint of gold caught her eye. Her eyes widened as she realised it was a wedding band. "Oh no," she groaned, "no, no, why? I don't remember any of this!"

"Well there's a surprise," Mercer spoke up sarcastically at last.

"Well do you remember it?" she retorted to him venomously as she waved the ringed finger pointedly. "Mr Shackle a Girl with a Marriage Instead of Chains? Very romantic, really, nice touch, I'm glad you found a way to secure your fortunes to me, because of course I'd run off otherwise but now that this has happened, well what reason could I have to blunder into places I don't know with no coin, or clue now?"

Mercer shrugged. "We're not...well we're not," he grumbled, unable to finish the words. He stepped forward until he reached the steps at the pool and ascended them, pausing to look at the fierce eyed priestess. "You mentioned others; do you know where they are?"

"Oh, I'd love to help you figure it out," she answered frostily, "but I'm too busy cleaning up the mess you made of our temple." She unfolded her arms and gestured outwards to the mess.

Mercer reached inside his shirt and was relieved to find his possessions still there. He tugged out a small pouch of coin and looked at her pointedly. "Tell us where our companions might be and how we got here," he said coldly. His skull was still pounding, his bladder was beginning to throb as well and the buzzing images in his head made no sense.

The priestess looked at the pouch and sighed. "Well, we can always use contributions," she confessed. "Look I don't know where your friends ended up but there were three of them, all male, a Breton called Sam, a mage and a man named Cynric." She turned another fiery look upon the still soaked woman. "He was the one who gave you the amulet and was singing about weddings, of course I think it was just a joke to him, not that the rest of you were too serious. He babbled about you leaving someone in Whiterun, finding your horses and then that was him gone again, he and the mage said something about giving you two some privacy on your wedding night."

Amaris' cheeks immediately reddened as she looked to Mercer with immediate horror. 'We couldn't have,' she told herself as her heart began to pound, 'there's no way, he wouldn't... He doesn't even...I'm not a person to him, just walking, talking treasure.'

"That's it really," the priestess concluded, "you came here late in the evening, well it was more like early in the morning, with a priest of Mara, wanting a wedding service in a temple. If you hadn't offered the coin we would have refused and judging from your mess we should have. So congratulations but that's all I can help with, now if you will excuse me I've a temple to tidy." She turned from the pair at last, descending the steps and heading towards a brush abandoned against a wall.

Mercer reached out a hand to Amaris and pulled her sharply from the pool. She gave a grunt of displeasure and glowered at him before pausing to push some of her damp coppery brown locks from her face. Mercer gave a soft push towards the stairs and out of his way before turning to the pool. He unbuckled his belt and then unbuttoned his trousers. When Amaris heard a low tinkle and the quiet splashing of water she pulled a face of disgust and turned in a hurry from the pool, her damp shoes slapping loudly against the stone as she rushed down the steps.

"Let's go," the thief said gruffly in her ear after he had finished before taking her by the arm and guiding her to the doors. He did not want to consider what had happened last night, if it even was just last night, could their drinking session have lasted longer?

Outside Amaris let out another groan of misery as the bright sun burned her eyes and sent her skull pounding. She broke from Mercer to double over and vomit over the wall at the tree that had served as Mercer's bed. When she finished, she wiped her chin, squinted and finally stood upright and turned to face the glaring thief. "Where are we?" she queried curiously.

"Markath," he answered impatiently, "city of stone and shit."

"How...how did we get here?" Amaris pondered as she raised one hand to shield her eyes and looked about at her surroundings. It was as unfamiliar to her as everywhere else, the name was only vaguely familiar but nothing she spotted brought back any recollections. If the view did not make her feel ill she might have appreciated their vantage point better. The city was huge, bigger than Riften; it seemed to spring from the mountains, set within their rocky sides with waterfalls spilling behind it into rivers that ran through the stone paths and under stone bridges. In a strange way it almost looked as natural as the mountain itself, just another aspect of the natural world of Skyrim. Whereas Riften was mostly wood this was a place almost completely stone, tall, grand and crowded it was wilderness and city life combined with the wild mountain plants cropping up on building walls, on the streets and from the mountainside that cradled the city. It was intimidating and the crowds as alarming as they were fascinating.

"Sam," Mercer spat out hatefully, "it's all to do with him." He could barely recollect the man, a young, cocky and persuasive Breton, he had used Mercer's ego to get the better of him and now the thief was paying the price with a pounding skull. 'I've drank plenty before and never ended up this way,' the thief thought angrily, 'how in Nocturnal did we end up in Markath? This isn't natural...' He let his thoughts trail off as his agonised and confused mind refused to permit anymore strenuous thought.

"Sam..." Amaris touched a hand to her blazing, aching forehead and caught an image of the sly, youthful Breton with soft, brown hair, a fair complexion and reasonably good looks. "I thought he was trying to poison you." She paused and looked at the thief accusingly. "Seems he was."

Mercer frowned back at her and snarled, "well I'm still alive aren't I?"

"And who says that's a good thing?" she retorted tauntingly. "Hmm," a grin played across her features as she glanced again at the alien feeling band on her finger, "if you weren't would I have inherited your possessions?"

"Don't get ideas," he growled at her, unwillingly to see any humour in their situation, "we're not..." He still could not say the word. "We're bloody not."

Amaris shrugged. "I hope we're bloody not," she murmured as she looked about the city again. "How big is this place and how far is it from Whiterun?"

"It's big enough," Mercer grumbled, "and far enough from Whiterun, how long we took to get here..." He paused and considered that although he felt tired he did not feel like he had walked all the way to Markath. 'I don't even think we could've ridden here, that would have been three days at least, could all that be missing?' He looked to Amaris and thought, 'this is what every day must be like for her, confusion, disagreement in your own mind and a jigsaw of images you have no idea how to put back together.' He tensed slightly as he realised that he actually felt pity for the woman, it was a notion he hardly bore for anyone, considering it a weak thing to feel and anyone needing it as someone best ignored or put out of their misery. "Let's just find those two idiots," he suggested.

"That priestess said Cynric left talking about finding our horses?" Amaris made it a question as the buzzing in her head made even the recent memories of the temple a little foggy. "So either he's at stables or on his way to Whiterun, and hopefully with Marcurio." She deliberately chose to ignore everything else the priestess had mentioned about Cynric, how they had afraid in the temple hand in hand and how he had been the one to gift her with an Amulet of Mara.

"Let's go then," Mercer said as he led the way to the stone path.

They paused twice for Amaris to vomit again and then for the redhead to ask directions to the stable as she became convinced that the hostile Mercer was leading them in circles about the granite labyrinth of buildings. When they came across a store called 'The Hag's Curse' Mercer was swift in pushing Amaris through the wooden door.

They found themselves in an alchemy store full of glass bottles, jars, oddly shaped vials, containing a variety of liquid and ingredients wooden and metal boxes, several small drawers set into a large case, open boxes on the floor full of herbs and stacks of dusty books. There was a large counter behind which an alchemy lab sat along with shelves stacked with more ingredients and potions. A smirking, silver haired Breton lady dressed in black mage robes greeted them. "And here is the happy bride," she commented brightly with a hint of mockery to her voice.

"How do you know?" Amaris queried bluntly as she gave the black tattoos on the woman's face a puzzled look.

The woman gave a short chuckle. "My you certainly were merry if you don't remember coming here last night, searching for a priest of Mara. You and that mage who kept trying to impress me with some fire spell, and that other man, yes," her smile widened, "he's the one who brought you here, something about stamina potions. Then there was third man, he was the one who talked about there being a wedding." She glanced at Amaris' necklace and then spied the glimmer of gold on her finger. "Looks like it happened then." She turned a teasing stare on Mercer. "So did the stamina potions work? Your friend bought two but if you're with the bride can I assume they were for you?"

"I wouldn't need them," the thief growled out sharply, "now look I don't have time for this nonsense, I just want a simple potion that will stop her being sick." He nodded at Amaris who stopped smiling in jest and found herself blushing once more.

"Ah, the price of merriment," the woman retorted calmly before she returned to behind her counter and hunted amongst the shelves. She plucked out a small purple vial with a rubber cork and brought it over to the counter. "Five septim please," she said as she looked to Amaris, "just take it all in one go and it should start working immediately."

Amaris accepted the potion with a grateful look as Mercer slammed down the coin onto the counter and ignored the woman's smirk. Amaris took the potion immediately, wincing and tensing at the bitter, sickening taste that seemed to linger in her throat as it slid down like syrup. Once it was done she set the empty vial back on the counter and only just managed to resist retching.

"Let's get to the stables then," Mercer grumbled, "and find those other two."

Amaris murmured a thanks to the woman before walking with Mercer once more back to the unforgiving sun and crowds of Markath.

Cynric and Marcurio had discovered three things- one, they had trespassed into stables, two, they were in Markath and three, Mercer and Amaris' whereabouts were unknown. Currently the pair were in the hive of the bustling city, avoiding guards in case word of their trespassing had spread from the stable owner who had surprised them and promptly shouted for the guards.

"I've never much liked this place," Cynric grumbled, "it's too big."

"I love it," Marcurio remarked, "it's a city of the Dwemer, full of artefacts and history."

Cynric shook his head disapprovingly. "It's a city full of Nords," he grumbled, "and conspiracies, too much nonsense with the Forsworn and Talos." He halted for a moment, eyeing a guard warily and then looked about their surroundings in frustration. "Where could they be?" he wondered aloud. 'What if Amaris was taken again?' he thought. 'Neither I nor magic boy can remember much of anything, she could have been...'

"We need to start asking people," Marcurio retorted as he rubbed his sore neck wearily. He stopped before a middle aged Nord male and queried, "excuse me, have you seen a young woman with brown copper hair or a Breton male with greying brown hair who looks like he's grumpy?"

The Nord regarded Marcurio moodily and shook his head bluntly.

"Wonderful," Cynric murmured sardonically before he risked tugging down his cowl and exposing himself to the dreaded sun. He winced at its bright rays before approaching the young woman he intended to charm some information from. "Excuse me," he greeted her politely with a smile, "I'm sorry to trouble you but I'm new in town and I've lost my companions amongst all these buildings."

She regarded Cynric with wary, brown eyed distain and grumbled aloud with a roll of her eyes, "why can't the men in this city just leave me alone?" She shook her head angrily before continuing on her way.

"Good work," Marcurio said tauntingly.

Cynric muttered a curse before tugging his hood back up again. "Look, do you remember anything?" he demanded as he looked at Marcurio.

"Singing," Marcurio confessed, "and...a party?" He scratched his dark hair and sighed. "I think...was there was a sheep? Did we steal a sheep?" He looked at Cynric dubiously.

"We were in Whiterun," Cynric said carefully as he attempted to retrace their steps, "you, me, Amaris and Mercer, in the Bannered Mare. There was a guy, some Breton, he and Mercer were drinking and then... There was another Breton, Amaris was talking to him, ah it's all muddled up."

"Sam," Marcurio said suddenly, "the man was called Sam, the one who got us all drinks. That was it wasn't it? We had drinks with him and then..." He gave a slightly sheepish look. "I think we're probably banned from The Bannered Mare, a pity, I like that inn."

Cynric caught a flashback of dancing along the tables with the barmaid and stealing a coin purse off someone who had smelled like wet dog.

Marcurio remembered a joyride through the town on a donkey, yanking down the trousers of one of the guards and then... He moaned and clutched his head; he did not want to recall anymore, the shame was too much.

"I think we broke into a meadery," Cynric said, "I think it was Maven's and oh...eight divines," he started snickering, "Mercer pissed a message for her on the wall!"

Marcurio frowned at that as he tried and failed to recall it. "Why would he do that?" he queried dryly. "Wasn't it enough that she sent an assassin after him for merely stealing her horse?"

"That wasn't why she did it," Cynric answered dismissively.

"Then why?" Marcurio pried.

The young thief shrugged. "Truthfully I don't know, when it comes to them it's a hate, hate relationship, though it wasn't always so."

"That man hates everyone," Marcurio said firmly.

"Well I think he only dislikes me," Cynric jested.

"Speaking of," Marcurio remarked as he gestured ahead, "there they are."

Amaris glanced their way just as Cynric looked to her and the scowling Mercer and he was overwhelmed with another flashback. His lips pressing suddenly and swiftly against someone else's soft lips, a bold act in fun more than anything, he shook the memory free telling himself that it had been the barmaid he had so carelessly kissed.

Amaris had hidden her wedding band inside her pocket but the damp dress and the amulet were still very visible. Marcurio eyed the amulet in surprise and asked, "is that an amulet of Mara?"

"Were you at the stables?" Mercer snarled at the pair bluntly.

"Yes," Cynric answered calmly as his blue eyes continued to take in Amaris' appearance and he wondered where she had gotten the dress from.

"Are the horses there?"

"Yes," Cynric repeated.

"Right, we're going," the master thief said sternly, his glower making it clear that he would hear no objections.

"Fine by me but we'll have to be discreet," Cynric answered brightly, "we're wanted for trespassing there."

Mercer shook his head scornfully whilst Amaris let out a small giggle. Though the woman detested having yet more amnesia to deal with she could not help but feel a small part of their situation was fun, exciting even and it was certainly good not to be the only one suffering from memory loss.

"She's wearing my dress!" a woman's loud shriek caught their attention and they saw a fierce eyed brunette glaring at Amaris. "They are the ruffians who broke into my home!" she accused as she pointed at them. "They broke my fine porcelain and that woman put awful bows on my cat and stole my dress!"

"Time to go," Cynric said hastily with a wry grin before they broke into a run.

For a moment the four just ran frantically beside each other, alert to the sound of heavy boots hitting stone and metal armour clanging behind them as the guards began a chase. Though Amaris' muscles ached and her heart was pounding fiercely against her chest she felt alive, it was wondrous, inappropriate and strange and yet she enjoyed it. She knew she had not had such fun before or been so adventurous, reckless and above all, free. Her heart caught in her throat suddenly as they turned down a narrow alleyway and the stench of raw meat from a vendor's stall struck out at her. It was nauseating and invoked unwanted memories of poor Quintus. She tried to shake off the memories even as she began to shake, and forced herself to keep running.

They had run last night too, hollering across the long, untamed grass beneath the stars, ignorant to the dangers in the dark. Amaris recalled voicing her fears of the Falmer just once before Sam had assured that the Falmer would not bother him, oddly she had believed him. 'Why though?' she wondered as they dodged to the left. 'Who is Sam? What happened last night? How did we get here?'

At long last the stables loomed into view, and despite their heavy panting and sweat soaked forms, the four managed to find the energy to run to them. They ignored the protesting stable hand, Mercer pushing him sharply to one side, and mounted a merry Robert and perplexed Frost. As the guards' yelling neared them they urged their steeds into a gallop, away from Markath.

They had ridden for a couple of hours before finally accepting that they were not being pursued. Then in the shade of a collection of towering stones that made a point known as The Lover Stone, they finally stopped to rest and check their supplies. They gulped down what remained of the water before refilling their pouches at a nearby brook and unfolding their bedrolls.

Awkwardness and silence took over and Cynric busied himself with finding a pool to bathe in whilst Marcurio chose to sleep. Mercer lay on his bedroll with one arm folded beneath his head, his eyes staring upwards with a bored expression. After a moment he tugged something from his pocket with his free hand and when Amaris looked his way she saw him fiddling with a gold and crystal bauble.

"What is that?" she enquired curiously.

"I don't know," he admitted moodily, knowing full well that she was addressing him, "I took it from that shop in Riverwood."

"Why? What's the point when you don't know what it is?" she questioned.

"It might be valuable," he answered curtly, "I don't know who you are and yet I'm taking a chance on you," he reminded her coldly. "Besides," he added, "they were rude to you."

"Well I'm touched that you stole to avenge my honour but it wasn't necessary," she said calmly.

"I didn't say that," he growled at her swiftly, "I'm a thief with a Guild in trouble, all treasure is a help."

"Is that why you're so determined to find out my value?" Amaris questioned. "Because your guild is in trouble and you hope I can help?"

"No," Mercer answered flatly, "because I suspect in the end you will be worth something valuable to me, something I can use, something different. Make no mistake; I am only in this for the treasure you stand for."

"I know," she answered softly as she turned from him and gazed out at the sun kissed trees and grass. "Is Solitude far from here?"

"Four days ride, give or take," Mercer answered bluntly as he pocketed the bauble.

"One final question," she said as she turned her mismatched gaze back on the master thief, "how does it feel to have no memory?" She was not savage or accusing with her question, merely curious but the Breton bristled and scowled anyway.

"It's a pain in the ass," he admitted gruffly.

Amaris gave a small smile at this. "Now you know."


	14. Chapter 14- In the Shadows of Solitude

"_It was mercy for you." Hands grasped her eyelids and her lips, wrenched them both open as a curse and a wail filled her ears. "IT WASN'T WORTH MERCY!" A scream repeated over and over. The meat was burned and bloody as they forced it into her mouth. Her stomach growled for and welcomed it when they made her swallow it._

The thieves and mage awoke sharply at the screams, Cynric bolted upright, Marcurio opened his tired eyes expectantly whilst Mercer barely stirred, too used to it now. Cynric went to the redhead woman sitting up by the corpse of the fire, turning left and right with wide eyed alarm as she screamed.

A face hissed out at her, grey, red marked and sharp toothed. Another to the left, and another as she crawled from it. They loomed out of the darkness, snapping and hissing at her unexpectedly, they were everywhere. "No, no!" she shrieked as she clutched her ears tightly and shut her eyes in despair. She could not avoid them, they had her surrounded. She began to sob loudly in terror and shake her head; they would take her again, torture her and make her scream.

Cynric's hands wrapped around her shoulders causing her to jump violently with another yell and attempt to shake him off. Her hands dropped from her ears to push at his arms, giving him the opportunity to lean close to her right ear and murmur, "shush, it's alright Amaris, it's alright." He held her tightly yet gently, cradling her slowly in an attempt to soothe her as she continued to sob.

"They're everywhere," she choked out.

Cynric nodded sympathetically as he tried to manoeuvre her back to the still glowing ashes of the fire, trying not to hurt her or be hurt by her as she stiffened and tried to resist. "It was just a nightmare," he soothed, "they're not here."

"They are," she stammered nervously as she looked at her lap, too afraid to look about in case their blind eyes glowed back. "The things they did...they'll make me..." She shook her head and another sob rang out. "I...I ate a human being, someone I knew...is there any forgiveness for that? I had forgotten it..." She sniffled. "Now it's always there somewhere in my mind, Quintus..." She trembled and jerked from the thief vehemently, turning sharply to the left and vomiting away from the fireplace.

Cynric waited until she finished retching before moving her away, keeping her close to the fire still but now closer to Mercer who was lying awake staring up at the sky moodily. Cynric, keeping both arms wrapped about the young woman, lay down with her delicately, turning her slightly towards the fire. "You don't need to be forgiven for something you were forced to do," the thief answered her at last. "Now, I know it's hard but you need to put it from your mind Amaris, don't let it consume you."

"I'm afraid," she confessed quietly as she stared at the flames with damp eyes, "I don't want to be but I am, of them, of what happened, of what I was. I'm so scared I was bad, something that deserved to be contained and hurt."

"Nonsense," Cynric chided her scornfully. "I know you don't remember yourself Amaris but I know you, I do, and you don't have it in you. Your nightmare is making you have silly thoughts, just close your eyes and think of something else."

"Like what?" she asked hoarsely as she gripped his arm tightly and moved closer to him. She did not feel safe out in the wilderness tonight, she was just too exposed even with the fire, and she recalled how easily the Falmer had snatched her before. If she was secure enough against someone, surely she couldn't be taken so simply, surely they would hold her tight, awaken immediately and help her fight them off.

"Like whatever we got up to under Sam's guidance," the thief suggested jovially. "Do you know I overheard some people in Markath talking about a wedding, I wonder if we were connected?"

Amaris flushed slightly at the thief's question and was thankful that the night hid the sudden colouring of her cheeks.

"And Marcurio pulled down the guard's trousers in Whiterun," the thief commented, loud enough for the mage to hear and give a grunt of protest. Cynric gave a short chuckle, earning a disapproving grunt from Mercer this time. "And our dear master thief pissed in a brewery."

"That's enough," Mercer growled out as Cynric laughed again and Amaris smiled faintly.

Amaris finally nodded off ten minutes later in Cynric's arms, falling asleep to his babbling about what little he recalled of their antics and what he could guess at. She slept peacefully for the rest of the night and awoke alert and merry to a golden dawn.

The sky was cloudy, the air dry and full of birdsong along with the occasional yip of a fox or bleat of a wild goat. They were close to Solitude now, Mercer guessed they would be at Dragon Bridge for noon at the earliest, there they could take a break and have their horses tended to.

They travelled on foot at first, taking in the now familiar sight of brooks, streams, rocks, towering pine and fir trees, prickly bushes, pale wildflowers and long grass. They stuck to a trampled down path, which eventually led them to a purposefully manmade one of cobbled stones, on which they passed a group of Khajiit, and a couple of scruffy, stern faced Stormcloaks. Mercer stole shamelessly from the Khajiit and Cynric proudly took a coin pouch from one of the Stormcloaks.

They kept a comfortable silence between them, the three men knowing better than to mention Amaris' night terrors. After almost three hours of walking Mercer broke the silence by suggesting, or rather commanding, they take a rest break. The path ran along the steep bank of a roaring river and the master thief knew they were close to Dragon Bridge, another couple of hours and they could get lunch there. Cynric went off to find a private spot to relieve himself whilst Marcurio busied himself with practising spells and Amaris tugged out The Sixteen Accords of Madness.

The redhead sat puzzling over the words internally for ten minutes before accepting that she just could not focus on the whimsical tale of Sheogorath's wits against Hircine. Prompted by Cynric last night she had being trying to recall their evening with Sam all morning and a few things had finally come back to her. In particular was the brief, blurred memory of a kiss and Amaund Motierre, the handsome and awkward Breton in Whiterun. She wondered in frustration if it had been him who had kissed her and how they had parted ways. It made her cheeks burn anew to think of him and she found herself privately hoping that she had not embarrassed herself before him. It was foolish she knew to think of him when she hardly knew him, could barely recall him and would probably never see him again. Skyrim was so vast but then Amaund had seemed like an important man and Solitude was an important city. 'Don't be silly,' she chided herself.

Cynric returned and Mercer remarked gruffly, "let's get ready to go." He had been watching Amaris read, preparing to be annoyed and forced to scold and correct before he realised she was not reading at all. Now the thief wandered what had her mind so preoccupied, he considered it was her nightmare but then he had seen her cheeks redden and her eyes fill not with fear but with hope and he knew it was something else that plagued her.

"Oh sweet Zenithar!" Marcurio cried out all of a sudden as he jumped up with a look of alarm. He raised a quivering finger and pointed it accusingly at Mercer and then Amaris. "You two got married!" he shrieked.

"What?" Cynric queried mockingly as he laughed and his eyes glimmered with disbelief. He turned to Mercer expecting him to dispute the claim but the master thief remained silent, his face stern and his arms folded. "Wait, what?" Cynric's hypnotic cerulean stare fell on Amaris this time, she was glowing scarlet and looking at her shoes with a deep interest.

"I remember," Marcurio remarked rapidly as he continued to point at the pair, "in Markath, there was a temple and a ceremony. You got married!"

"Then..." Cynric tugged out the gold band he had kept in a pocket at his chest. "Does this belong to one of you?" he queried innocently as a smile tugged at his lips.

"We didn't get married," Mercer growled out in a voice more animalistic than usual as he gave the mage a look than plainly said he wished he could make the man a mute.

"You did," Marcurio insisted, "to each other; there was a priest and a ceremony."

"Does it count if you're drunk?" Cynric pondered aloud.

"Shut up already mage," Mercer snarled.

"You're a pervert!" Marcurio accused in outrage. Cynric burst into hysterical laughter as Amaris looked up in surprise and Mercer's lip curled up in a snarl and his fists clenched together.

"I never touched her!" the master thief snapped in a fury.

"That you remember," Cynric dared to joke, "but then you don't remember."

Mercer whirled to face the thief with a deadly glower. "We did not get married and nothing happened," he insisted, "so there is nothing to talk about, nothing," he repeated firmly and loudly. "It's time to go, mount the horses." Amaris mounted Frost first, purposely avoiding eye contact with anyone as her cheeks continued to glow.

Cynric mounted Robert in front of Marcurio, still snickering to himself. As they rode at a spirited canter he jested loudly, "nothing must have been quite entertaining. I have some faint recollection of nothing now, it was quite the party."

Marcurio was too horrified at the thought of the middle aged thief being wed to the young and, in his mind, innocent Amaris to find any humour in the situation. 'I bet he knew what he was doing,' the mage thought suspiciously, 'he's married her to keep her secure, to ensure whatever she's worth he will get. He's a sick greedy bastard.'

After a few minutes of Cynric's goading and Mercer's muttered curses the group lapsed into silence again, this time a more awkward one. Luckily the hoof beats of the horses, the roar of the river and the call of the wild animals kept it from being too suffocating or domineering. When Dragon Bridge finally loomed into view Amaris' embarrassment was dispelled by awe and even Marcurio was fascinated enough by the grand structure to put his anger and suspicion to one side.

They turned onto the bridge to cross the mighty river and found themselves on a sturdy structure of stone being looked upon by the cold eyes of a dark dragon's stony head set high above the middle of the bridge. The impressive stone creation led themselves towards a collection of stone and wooden buildings, including a mill that sat close to a churning waterfall. It was not large enough to be a village, though it seemed busy enough with guards and travellers.

Amaris turned her head slightly to the right as they crossed the bridge to admire the view and let out a gasp. In the distance were the faint dark structures of many buildings, high up and extending far out onto the river on a stone arch. "Solitude," she murmured in awe. Mercer was surprised by the conviction in her voice though he did not comment on it.

Amaris reached for the gold medallion about her neck, tugging it out to glimpse at the wolf of Solitude before putting it back. It had been temporarily replaced by the Amulet of Mara but thankfully turned up in Marcurio's robes and resumed its usual position against Amaris' chest. She knew now that the amulet was important, not just a trinket from a stall, it was something more and she filled with a sudden zeal and rush of impatience to get to the grand city she had barely glimpsed.

Reaching the other side of the bridge, they dismounted the horses and Mercer led them to a male Redguard farmer who was chopping wood. There were four buildings as well as the mill and evidently no stables, though near the Redguard was a small area of land occupied by a lone, woolly, brown haired cow. It looked big enough to fit the two horses as well and had a trough of water and another of hay.

"Welcome travellers," the Redguard greeted politely as he halted in his labour to look them over with a cool yet calm stare.

"Greetings," Cynric answered merrily, knowing that Mercer would opt for bluntness over courtesy. "We're hoping to have some lunch here," he said with a nod to the inn, "would it be possible for us to leave our horses with your cow? We will pay for the trouble of course."

The Redguard took in the stallions, glanced at his horse and then looked the trio over once more again before nodding. "Sure, leave them to rest, I wouldn't charge you for it but..." He paused, evidently reluctant to continue. "Well times are getting tough, both the Imperials and Stormcloaks have sent riders this way, scouting the bridge and the lands nearby. They stayed at the inn, but didn't pay. They said soldiers don't need to pay because they're risking their lives to protect us," he spoke with an obvious scorn and a scowl creased his dark features. "So if you could spare the coin."

Cynric nodded, tugging out a pouch, opening it and counting out five gold pieces. He handed them over to the Redguard and commented brightly, "I'll give you another ten when we leave."

The Redguard smiled back at the thief as he accepted the coin. "Many thanks; I'm Azzada Lylvieve by the way."

"Cynric Endell," the thief answered, though he did not bother to introduce his companions, instead he led Robert towards the pen.

Once the horses had had their tack removed and stored under Azzada's watchful eye and the horses were secure, Cynric led the way towards the inn. They received glowers from two Imperial soldiers, mistrustful looks from a family of Argonians who were passing through and a few curious glimpses from Nord hunters, who had paused to rest and sell their slain prey.

Undeterred by the wariness and hostility they entered the inn which had a sign bearing the name Four Shields with four shields painted underneath it. For such a small collection of houses the inn itself was large, purposely built to give passing soldiers a place to stay. There were two women working within, a beautiful young woman with pale brown skin who swept the floors and a tall, pallid Nord with an ample chest and a thick hue of chestnut hair that hung unbounded over her shoulders. They headed towards this woman, who stood behind the counter, talking with mild disinterest to an elderly Nord patron. She perked up at the sight of fresh customers and was quick to greet them, and even quicker to take their orders of food when Cynric produced a pouch of coin.

With their orders taken, the three occupied a round table against the back wall and found themselves forced to stare at each other, contemplating the thick silence that hung over the table. There was no bard in the inn to rid them of the quiet and the few patrons that were there talked in hushed murmurs amongst themselves, there were no rowdy drunks here to sing and shout. It stayed like that until their food arrived. Not that she was to know it, but out of respect for Amaris the men had refrained from choosing out of the options of beef, lamb, goat and freshly killed rabbit, knowing that after her very recent nightmare the sight of bloody, dark meat was only likely to invoke memories and vomiting. Even so the redhead still blanched slightly at the chicken stew Marcurio and Mercer had ordered and Cynric's fish pie. She lowered her face hastily to her own mushroom soup, inhaling the scent and banishing the odour of fish and chicken.

They had their lunch in peace despite a few suspicious glances from Imperial soldiers and once they were finished they continued on their way. The day remained cool, dry and cloudy, pleasant enough for travelling. They kept to the main paths and passed a mixture of travellers, hunters, merchants and the expected soldiers. At first there were more Stormcloaks, and they skirted by a Stormcloak camp, Mercer did not think they were worth the hassle as they rarely carried anything of value. As they neared Solitude the number of gruff rebels faded and the number of Imperial soldiers rose. Many marched by them with disinterest, they all moved in the same formal, strict manner, none of them pausing to take in the calm, sweet air or beautiful scenery, or to even nod or converse briefly with other travellers. There was a tension that hung around them, it was obvious from their appearance and attitude that they were not on a drill but were very much at war.

Only the Imperial Marcurio eyed the soldiers as protectors, Cynric viewed them as violent as the Stormcloaks, Mercer regarded them as an irritation and Amaris was unsure what to make of them. The redhead felt a prickle of respect and loyalty towards them as they marched by but there was something else to, anger she thought though she could not understand why.

As the sun started to descend they began to ascend, now on foot, climbing up a wide path that kept the wide roaring to its right and the wilderness of trees, wild grass and mountain life to its left. Solitude towering above them, reaching into the clouds and stretching out across the river along a grand stone arch. It was magnificent, huge and frightening, a powerful and sturdy city, its ancient walls visible even from their low vantage point.

Amaris sucked in a breath of excitement, her body rejuvenated by the sight, despite their long travelling she was not tired, instead she tingled with anticipation and nervousness and felt like she could run straight to the stop. The others were not so lively, Mercer was wary of another dead end and though eager to end the tiresome quest of Amaris' identity he feared it would be a letdown, Marcurio was simply too tired to grow fearful or excited and Cynric could not decide if he was glad to see the majestic city or not.

It was as the sky filled with a splash of colour and the sun gave out a final burst of dying white light that they finally neared the giant gates of Solitude, capital city of Skyrim. There were stables first and Mercer led them towards them so that Frost and Robert could receive a much needed rest. It was a pleasant farm combined with the stables, busy with passing through travellers of all races who stopped to query about the palomino horses munching lazily on hay, enquire about the cost of the carriage and barter over the vegetables growing nearby.

There was one tall, male who immediately caught Amaris' attention and sent a chill through her. She drew back against Cynric instinctively, lowering her eyes, suddenly afraid that the man might look her way. He wore long hooded robes and carried himself in an authoritative and hostile manner, ignoring the Khajiit who tried to garner his attention and making a beeline for the carriage. Cynric glanced down curiously at Amaris when she bumped against him and he saw her head was bowed, he considered questioning her until Mercer drew the attention of one of the farm hands, prompting Cynric to guide Robert over to him.

Amaris, sensing Cynric move, glanced up and found herself looking at the man once more as he negotiated with the man who sat on the carriage holding the reins of the bored looking brown steed. He had a sharp, pale golden skinned face, the skin draw tight at his pronounced cheeks and pointed chin; in the shadows of his hood she glimpsed a strand of greying golden hair and the glint of a silver earring. She realised he was elven, Altmer, but there was something else about him that nagged her and set her teeth on edge. She was relieved when Cynric gripped her arm gently and said, "it's time to go." She turned to the thief with a grateful smile and allowed him to guide her over to the impatient Mercer, who then began to lead the way to the main city.

Amaris felt her heart start to pound against her chest frantically all of a sudden as they fell in the shadow of the main gates. Solitude, the city that hopefully held all her answers. When they stepped through the main gates and into the city she suddenly paled and felt faint, knowing without doubt that she had been here before.


	15. Chapter 15- A Memory Returned

There was a serious air to the thriving city and amongst the jovial gossip and business discussions were barely heard whispers of death and rebellion. To the right was a wooden platform that everyone kept a distance from, some men and women spat in its direction, some made gestures and murmurs, and others ignored it entirely as if it simply did not exist.

The streets were a blend of many races and professions, showing more variety than even Riften, though the racial prejudices were a little more obvious as the tall and proud Altmer looked to the few Nords with disgust, and several Imperials cast downward gazes of loathing upon Khajiit and Argonians alike. Merchants, bards, mages and soldiers all mixed together to talk, barter, trade and squabble, every direction was littered with throngs of people going about their business, the only indication that a terrible murder had occurred in the city's palace were the numerous guards that marched through the streets.

Cynric started to lead the way past the many shops. The buildings were big and wide, impressive structures of stone with colourful bunting hanging from one to another on thick ropes, though they were not as grand or imposing as the walls behind them. The streets were cleanly kept cobbled paths, with some natural stones and moss cropping up in the middle, the few barrels, crates and hay bales that sat outside had all been placed carefully out of the way and against the walls. As they walked many scents reached out to them, the sweet and soft perfumes from the aromatics' store, the pungent and pleasant odour of leather from the clothes shop, and the mingling smells of freshly caught fish and newly killed rabbits, hares and pheasants from the market stalls and the fletcher's, but nothing could quite hide the aroma of the people that wandered through the city. Many of the Khajiit had that treacherous bitter stench of skooma, the Argonians were damp with the murky waters they favoured, the Imperial soldiers had the rough smell of the wilderness they had tramped through combined with the cheap whiff of the inns they had ventured into whilst the Imperial, Nord and Altmer nobility all masked their true scents with expensive perfumes and potions.

At first Amaris was overwhelmed and almost dizzy with the attack upon her senses, everywhere she turned there were fresh sights, sounds and smells to take in. For a moment it was all she could do to keep breathing and follow after Cynric as she tried to sort out the confused bubble of emotions that filled her. As they ascended the steps to the Fletcher and blacksmith's a sense of awe and familiarity filled her as she found herself gazing upon at a dual image of the wolf of Solitude. Two banners of red hung down on either side of a large arch, both with a white cross over which a black outlined, white shield had been painted with the fierce, open mouthed wolf within it. She remembered it now, gazing up at those same wolves before in terror and wonder. "The guardians of Castle Dour," she murmured to herself faintly. At those words she suddenly speeded up, taking over a startled Cynric and rushing forward under the arch.

There it was, the many stone steps, turrets, crenellations, walls and buildings that made up Castle Dour, a mighty structure to house the powerful Imperial Legion of Solitude. The wolf banners hung down proudly from many of its walls including one from the lofty emperor's tower. In the courtyard arrows hummed through the air as the archers practised and swords clanged together in sincere practice. Amaris remembered it all, how frightened and yet enthralled it had once made her, how she had come here only a few times as a young girl and yet how the sounds of battle had always stayed with her until... She shook her head dumbly, unable to recall that point when everything had become lost to her or indeed why she had come here or who with.

Mercer's firm hand clamped down tightly on the girl's bony right shoulder and he said crossly, "don't run off."

She did not even acknowledge his grasp, continuing to look round the impressive castle with astounded eyes. There was the windmill, still spinning slowly; it balanced the tower out nicely, resting at the end of a stone arch which led to the temple.

"Faylinn?"

Amaris looked to the speaker in alarm as her entire body started shaking, her throat turned dry and her skin turned cold despite the mild air. He was a young, toned Nord dressed in the plainer version of Imperial armour, a relaxed version made of a brown tunic with a heavy belt at the waist, a crimson shirt and panelling underneath, chainmail at the shoulders and brown, leather greaves and thick, studded boots. The redhead's vision wavered and then blurred as she tried to take him in, at first her mind refused to, knowing that she would be bombarded with memories the moment she did. Then at last she acknowledged him, a man with her dark, coppery brown hair, only his was more lustrous and thicker, though just as straight but much shorter and better groomed, and he also held the same silvery grey in his eyes that she had in just one of hers. His skin was paler though, a milky fair to her usually ashen rose, though hers was now verging on grey.

Mercer noticed Amaris' quivering immediately and looked to the young soldier, the resemblance was unmistakable, he was clearly a Nord whilst Amaris was more of a mutt, her origins less distinguishable, yet they had the same hair, similar eyes, slender noses, and round faces, though hers was bonier from a lack of nutrition. The Nord looked like he had seen a ghost, the doubt and disbelief were obvious in his stare as well as his stiff stance.

"Soldier is there a problem?" the rough and yet feminine voice snapped the young Nord out of his stupor and he looked to the armoured woman in dumb surprise. She turned from him with a narrowed pale, blue gaze that took Amaris in with a heavy suspicion.

"No problem Legate Rikke," the man choked out hoarsely at last.

The soldier, a stern faced, blond Nord gave the man one final, disapproving and doubting look before she nodded stiffly and walked on. She wanted to query things further but the man was in his civilian uniform, he was not on duty and she did not want to appear nosy or a bully, especially not in front of other soldiers.

The male soldier took a hesitant step towards Amaris, then another before pausing and looking about awkwardly. "Is it you?" he queried, his voice thick with uncertainty. "Faylinn?"

Cynric regarded him with the same mistrustful surprise as Mercer whilst Marcurio looked at him in puzzlement and confusion. He thought the man looked familiar and wondered if it was because of his striking resemblance to Amaris. 'Is the mystery over then?' the mage pondered coolly.

The name, foreign and yet familiar, it had been hers once so long ago, too long ago. Tears pricked at her eyes and she shook uncontrollably, this was too much, she knew him and yet she did not. He was one piece of the puzzle, a big piece and yet seeing him only brought back a few incomplete memories that mixed and collided with one another, none ever fully forming. His name was there, just on the tip of her tongue, she was afraid to speak it though and make it real. "H..H..." She couldn't do it. Instead she bit her tongue until it bled to silence her sobs, bowed her head, shut her eyes tightly and let the dizziness and darkness overcome her briefly.

"Who are you?" Mercer demanded intolerantly.

The man's grey eyes looked to the thief at last as he wondered the same thing of him. "Hadvar Frostshone," he answered at last in a voice still tainted with shock, "her brother."

Amaris stiffened at the words whilst Cynric swallowed down his own disbelief, gritting his teeth as he did, and Marcurio actually let out a gasp of astonishment. Without warning Amaris suddenly wrenched free from Mercer's grasp and ran for it, fleeing from the courtyard and flinging herself into the crowds like a woman possessed.

The thieves and mage immediately gave chase whilst the imperial Nord stood there stupidly, wondering if she had just been an illusion or mirage. For so many years now he had imagined and even hallucinated her, what was one more time? Yet she had not come alone this time, and Rikke had looked at her. Was she real then? Alive and here against all the odds? He turned in the direction she had run contemplating pursuit though so much of him was afraid to. He moved at last, stiff and reluctant at first before his toned soldier's legs finally started to move, pounding powerfully as his boots echoed along the cobbles.

* * *

He had followed her, uncertain that it was even her and telling himself sternly that it was a waste of time and an unnecessary distraction. Yet he had come here earlier than planned because she was to come here and he had squandered a day trying to find her in the large city. Now his efforts it seemed were about to be rewarded, her certainly hoped it was the case otherwise stepping into such soiled and grim quarters was going to seem even more unbearable. When the tip of a dagger met the edge of his stomach he paused and contemplated drolly that this was how years of careful planning could be ruined in a moment of unnecessary distraction and folly.

She had been expecting the thieves and Marcurio and yet was wary enough of a different intruder to raise the dagger. Seeing who it was she did not know how to react, turning rigid in a moment of incredulity, she left the dagger hovering where it was, uncertain what to do. She felt her cheeks go rosy as she realised what a mess she looked with a dirt smudged face, swollen, bloodshot eyes, a runny, red nose, frizzy hair and the now worn and stained green dress and open formerly white cloak Camilla had given her. It was such a stupid and trivial thing to worry over and yet despite everything else Amaris could not help the embarrassment that filled her.

"What are you doing here Amaund?" she queried in a voice croaky from sobs.

"I could ask you the same thing," Amaund Motierre remarked calmly as he looked up at the half-rotted ceiling, which had once been the floor to another level, with disapproval. "This place is falling apart, it's dangerous."

It was true; it was a cheap, mostly wooden shack in a state of ruination. Without thinking, Amaris had crept through its slanted door seeking only a place to be alone and hidden. "I didn't think anymore would come here," she retorted weakly. It was a lie, she knew the thieves and mage would track her eventually, but that had not been what she was thinking as she had run from them, she had thought only of being out of the crowds, hidden and yet still in the safety of the city.

Amaund gave an awkward smile as he crouched down with a grimace, putting himself level with her, though he was careful to hover above the dirt floor. Strands of straw indicated that there had never been a real floor here, only straw to soften and obscure the dirt, and perhaps a rug. She noticed the man behind him at last, skulking in the doorway casting another shadow into the bleak, tiny room, his bodyguard Rexus. "Maybe I shouldn't have followed you," Amaund said at last, as much to himself as to her, "but I had to see that it was you."

"Why?" she croaked as tears continued to sparkle down her cheeks.

"You said you were coming to Solitude, and, well I had business here anyway so I thought to come earlier than planned." He bowed his head, suddenly bashful before looking back at her, as gauche as ever. "I thought we could share another drink, or lunch, an asinine idea perhaps but..." He let his words trail off, finding his own voice foolish to his ears. It was peculiar, usually he was a good speaker, perhaps a little cocky but he knew he was intelligent and charismatic, it was how he had gotten his prestigious job after all and yet here this strange and disturbed young woman had him babbling like a halfwit. 'I shouldn't have come here,' he scorned himself, 'not so early and not here after her, but... Her eyes, it's a small thing, rare but probably not unique, I shouldn't worry over it. She's just a lost woman, maybe a little mad but nothing serious.'

"I'm glad you made it here," Amaund said, changing topic swiftly, "you sounded very eager to come here."

She sniffled as she wondered with unease what all she had told him in Whiterun, what drunken confessions had she made? "I...I was," she admitted.

"You're shaking," he pointed out, "come on, this place could crumble on us at any moment." He reached out a gloved hand to her and she accepted it reluctantly. When she tried to stand with him however her legs quivered and gave way. She bowed her head in exhaustion and swallowed down another sob. Too many things had happened and were happening, she did not know what to think or do anymore. Hadvar, his name was Hadvar, her brother, she knew it was all true but she recalled no more than that. It was all a blur or a blank, brief flashes of recollections that lasted mere seconds, nothing solid. "I don't know what to do," she said quietly to herself, "I'm so tired, so, so tired."

"Let's get you in better quarters," Amaund suggested, "a place you can rest if you want." He reached out to her with both hands this time, helping to her feet, and with one hand carefully wrapped around her waist he escorted her back out to the busy streets of Solitude. He knew he was making a mistake, he did not need Rexus' judgmental stare to realise that, she was a terrible distraction but he could not leave her alone and dishevelled in a rundown shack. 'It's not charity and you know it,' he scorned himself as he guided her across the cobbled stones. 'You want to talk to her, to learn more about her and...' He halted that thought as his cheeks were highlighted with the palest hint of pink. Before she had left him in Whiterun she had shocked him with a bold gesture, one he did not think she would have dared to do had she not been inebriated. It had been a sloppy kiss, too quick to really be felt and stained with the taste of some sickeningly sweet wine, one of the worst kisses the Breton had probably had and yet it had not just amused him but made him feel a prickle of something else. 'Oh yes this is a dangerous thing to be doing,' he thought with dry amusement, 'I shouldn't get involved with her but I found her, it has to mean something.'

* * *

"YOU STUPID, STUPID, MAGICAL BASTARD!" Cynric screamed as he shook the iron bars of the cell in frustration.

Marcurio frowned back from the opposite cell and turned away in frustration and humiliation, refusing to respond to the thief's abuse.

"ONE SPELL, JUST ONE BLOODY SPELL, THAT WAS ALL YOU HAD TO DO!" Cynric continued to yell at Marcurio's yellow robed back. "BUT OH NO, HAD TO SET A GUARD ON FIRE, DIDN'T YOU? STUPID, STUPID ASS!"

"Enough!" a guard snapped as he clanged Cynric's bars with his sword's handle threateningly. "We can get you to the rack sooner if you want!"

Cynric paled and shrank back from the bars, muttering curses as he did. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat that he was ignorant to though the keen eyed Mercer picked it up. The Guild Master was in the cell to the right of Cynric's, quiet with his arms folded and his face tight with fury. He knew he could break out in seconds but there were too many guards pacing about at the moment and their weapons were locked away in a chest.

"She could be anywhere," Cynric complained as he paced about his cell. "With anyone, we need to get out of here, we need to find her."

"She won't have left the city," Mercer remarked calmly, the distain clear in his voice.

"We don't know that," Cynric argued as he glared over at his superior, "she's not thinking straight, not after what happened."

"She wouldn't risk exposure out there, not even in her state," Mercer grumbled, boredom slipping into his voice.

"Do you not care anymore?" Cynric queried agitatedly. "Because she's not some lost princess."

"She's no mere Nord either," Mercer retorted quietly, "the Falmer wouldn't have let her live if that's all she was, nor would the heads of the Dark Brotherhood have been summoned to kill her."

Cynric nodded wearily as he realised the truth of that before he turned to glare at Marcurio once more. "Stupid bastard," he cursed again, more quietly this time, "we could've found her by now, he could have tracked her but no, he had to use the wrong spell." He circled round the cell repeatedly and grumbled, "it's too small in here."

"Stop panicking Cynric," Mercer ordered frostily, "this isn't High Rock, you can break the locks here and we will, just wait for the opportune moment."

Cynric froze at Mercer's words. "I can't go through that again," he confessed, "let's not wait too long, I can't..."

"Don't be dramatic," Mercer sneered, "you'd be no good to me if I let them torture you. It won't come to that so be quiet and have patience."

Cynric shook his head nervously and clenched his fists tightly. "Hadvar," he grumbled hatefully, "an Imperial soldier, it's so ordinary, I don't like it or him. It's not right."

"Because you can't play at being her brother anymore?" Mercer quipped viciously.

Cynric glowered at his superior again. "For a man with two children you lack the familial instinct," he retorted coldly. "Look, I admit it, she reminded me of my own sister with her nightmares, but that's not the only reason I care about her, she's a good woman, and I do worry about her, as a person even if you only view her as a lump of treasure."

Mercer's eyes burned with annoyance at Cynric's words, and he chose to purposely ignore Cynric's first words. "We will find her," was all the thief would say.

* * *

They made it to Amaund's luxurious abode after ten minutes of quick walking. Amaund was conscious of the looks they received- ones of suspicion, mockery and curiosity, many from people who knew him, or rather knew his name and position, so few actually knew the Breton. He was not often in Solitude despite its high status in Skyrim, but he kept a home here for his few visits anyway to guarantee himself space, privacy and on hand servants. It was in the richer quarters of the city near the homes of the Thanes, the Bards' College and the Blue Palace itself. Like most of the buildings here it was three stories tall, made from sturdy, large stones with a tiled roof, and a wooden balcony. It was homely enough with potted plants on the balcony, bronze braziers for torches placed against the walls and a large, red painted, studded door with a gold plated knocker in the shape of a wolf's head. There was also a pale gold cobbled path leading up to the door and a small, stone fence sealing off the property, with an iron gate opening to the path.

Amaund guided Amaris up it, wondering why he had not just taken her to the inn. He reasoned to himself that it was a desire for privacy for himself and the girl, and also so that she might receive the best attention and have all that she needed at her disposal without fear of cost.

"My friends," she murmured weakly as she eyed the golden wolf's head. "They will be looking for me; I shouldn't have run off from them."

"Don't worry," Amaund assured her as he nodded to Rexus to open the door, "I can have my servants for look for them."

"Servants?" she echoed before giving a faint smile. "Of course you have servants."

Amaund looked down at her curiously wondering if she meant her comment as an insult or compliment. 'Does it make her uneasy?' he wondered. 'Is she disgusted with me now?' Envy of his wealth and status was something Amaund was all too used to but he did not think Amaris would be the kind to be petty or jealous. 'She's probably just surprised,' he reasoned with himself as Rexus opened the door and led the way in. "Three men right?" Amaund queried. "A mage and two Bretons, I remember them in Whiterun, that older man's eyes never left you, I suppose you're close."

Amaris almost wanted to laugh at that thought. Close? Yes they were close now, married! "You could say that," she answered cryptically. She doubted Mercer Frey would ever regard himself as being close to anyone, least of all her. "He and Cynric will probably spot your servants before they spot them, they're good at noticing things like that, and it might make them uneasy. Marcurio, the mage, he'll probably track me..." She paused and wondered why he had not done so already, could the spell take so long? 'Maybe they don't care,' she considered with a pang of horror, 'maybe I was just treasure to Mercer, how disappointed he must be to find out I'm...well what am I? Sister to a legionnaire? What else? Why did Kester and Quintus come for me?' Another pang ran through her as she recalled the thieves, opposites and yet the double of each other, Quintus pale and dark haired, Kester fair and blonde. 'Why did the Falmer keep me alive? Mercer must be wondering that, they all must. It's so foolish; I know that's what I am to him, a lump of treasure but...'

"Well I'll warn them," Amaund pledged as a startled maid came towards them, "Solitude is big but if they're in the city my servants will find them, and if they cannot get word to them they will bring it to you, don't concern yourself. Now, are you hungry or in need of rest? Or would you like a bath to warm your chill?" He broke from her at last and gestured to the maid. "My servants are at your disposal."

Amaris did not know what to think, she told herself she should go find Mercer, Cynric and Marcurio and apologise and then... 'Then Hadvar,' she realised, 'we'll have to find him.' She found herself shaking again at the thought and dropped to her knees causing the Dunmer maid to give a cry of fright. She bowed her head and touched it wearily with one hand; it was beginning to pound, growing tight at the brow and stiff at the back.

"You should rest," Amaund advised calmly as he reached to her once more and roused her to her feet. "Come, you can use my bed for as long as you wish and I will send my servants out immediately to seek out your friends so you need not fret."

Amaris nodded slowly, unable to make sense of her thoughts, they were just in too much of a jumble.

* * *

Hadvar stepped down into the dungeons of Castle Dour nervously, well aware that the guard was dubious about a legionnaire needing access to a mage who had tried to flame a soldier, and said mage's questionable companions. He paused as he reached the three at last, looking from one to the other with equal doubt. How well did they know his sister? Why were they with her? Was he wise to trust them? He turned from the sulky mage's back and caught the greying Breton's icy stare.

"Hadvar Frostshone," the thief made the name sound ominous, as if the redhead was the criminal.

Hadvar shuffled uneasily on his feet as he nodded. "Yes, and you are?"

"Mercer Frey."

The name meant nothing to the young soldier but he nodded again anyway. "And how do you know Faylinn, Mr Frey?" Hadvar decided to blunt, knowing no other way to go about the business. He was aware of giving the woman too much time to flee, who could tell where she would go? He had considered trying to find her alone when the mage had conjured a fire spell, obviously by mistake, but realised he had no idea where to even begin his search.

"We don't," it was Cynric who gave a sullen answer, "we know Amaris."

Mercer thought several curses as he gave the younger Breton a scolding look. He did not want to give Hadvar any clues about Amaris, information would give him a chance to lie and Mercer was done with falsehoods and mysteries, he wanted the truth about the girl.

"Who?" Hadvar questioned dumbly.

"You tell us," Mercer said frostily. "Or let her tell all of us, if we can find her."

"Can you?" Hadvar questioned anxiously.

Mercer nodded confidently. "The mage can, that was what he was meant to do but unfortunately the novice conjured the wrong spell."

"I'm not a novice," Marcurio snapped. He had noticed Hadvar's entry and turned around to listen in out of curiosity. "And I found her before," he reminded them, betraying yet another piece of information to Hadvar to the Guild Master's fury.

"Look, can you get us out of here?" Cynric quipped sharply as he looked about nervously. "Do that and we will help you find her."

Hadvar sighed and glanced over his shoulder at Marcurio. "That guard wasn't too pleased, you singed his arms."

"I didn't mean to," Marcurio grumbled, "and I did explain that."

"Alright," Hadvar consented, "give me a minute and I'll see what I can do."

* * *

_A revelation at last! So who saw this coming? Hadvar! Yay I loved him in the game, he should have totally been a companion option! Fun trivia, way, way back when I first envisioned the bare bones of this story it was going to be Hadvar who found Amaris not Mercer and Brynjolf, but then I played Skyrim some more, gave the plot some thought and it all just came together.  
_

_Anyway, many thanks for the reviews, please keep them coming as they are very much appreciated and help me shape the story better!_


	16. Chapter 16- A Brother's Love

Hadvar was noticeably uneasy as they walked, he wasn't even sure himself if it was more because he was walking with a recently convicted mage and two men who he knew weren't law abiding or if it was because he was on his way to find his sister. It was a confrontation he had imagined and dreamed of every day and often doubted would ever happen. He had hoped she would return to him but never imagined that she would risk it and he had certainly not envisioned the company she would keep, save one exception.

Cynric's vibrant blue eyes never left the young guard as they walked, following Marcurio's blue tinged white light. Though the flaming trail was harmless many citizens still felt the need to glower and grumble at the mage who frowned back or feigned ignorance. "When did you last see you sister?" Cynric pried in an accusing manner.

Hadvar, who had gathered swiftly that the brown haired man had issues, gave the thief a wary, grey glance before quipping, "Does it matter to you?"

Cynric frowned back from under his brown cowl and his dislike for the Nord immediately grew. "I'm just wondering how concerned you were about her absence," he remarked calmly in a manner obviously meant to irritate.

Mercer, who was following directly behind Marcurio, tightened his lip at Cynric's words but refused the urge to give the younger thief a warning glower. He knew Cynric would continue to pry regardless of Mercer's disapproval; his interest was just too much for him to contain. Whilst Mercer thought he risked giving away too much to Hadvar, Cynric thought that he was likely to learn more from the Nord now than when they found Amaris, there was every chance he would grow cagey in her presence.

"Look I don't know how close you are or aren't to Faylinn," Hadvar answered wearily, his irritation finally seeping into his thick Skyrim accent, "and I'm not going to say anymore until we find her. You guys could be her friends but I don't know for sure."

"Yet you let us out of jail," Mercer remarked dryly.

Hadvar flushed slightly at this and retorted awkwardly, "yes, well I'm beginning to regret that."

Marcurio gave a sigh of relief as his trail of light seemed to come to an end in the noble quarters. The mage was soaked with sweat as the Illusion spell was beginning to take its toll on him, though he would never admit it. He paused with a grunt as the spell flickered out before the door of one of the many grand houses in the rich quarters. "Apparently she's in there," the Imperial said as he eyed the house warily. Had Amaris found someone else she knew? Was she in there willingly?

"Why would she be in there?" Hadvar wondered as he stared up at the building with puzzlement.

The front door opened and a lightly armoured Dunmer woman stepped out. She halted and looked at the group with wary then surprised red eyes before taking a closer step towards them. "A mage, and two Bretons," she commented dryly, "there was no mention of a soldier but I doubt there's a group just like you wandering about, and so close too." She scanned them each in turn, trying to decide who the leader was before her carmine eyes settled on Marcurio, he was standing at the front and he was the mage after all. "Are you here for the girl?" she queried carelessly. "Reddish hair, pale skin?"

Marcurio nodded slowly as he looked to the dark elf mistrustfully. "Whose house is this?" he questioned. 'Is this a trap?' he wondered warily. 'But then who is Amaris the bait for? Or are they expecting a rescue?'

The Dunmer's pale purple lips curled up in a mocking smile. "Well he said I could give you his name though he doesn't expect you'll know it. Amaund Motierre, he said to inform you that he is a friend of the girl's, that he met her when you were in an inn in Whiterun."

"The Bannered Mare," Cynric commented with a small groan, "he could have been anyone there."

"He met her not us," Marcurio remarked carefully as he tried to recall the patrons of the inn but the night was such a blur and seemed so long ago now. "Of course she could have talked to several people that night."

"Lead the way in," Mercer addressed the dark elf coldly, "and let's see our friend then."

Hadvar thought he knew the name Amaund Motierre, someone important but he couldn't put his finger on it, so many delegates came in and out of Skyrim and stayed in the city it was hard to recall them all. Maybe he was even a local nobleman, Hadvar wasn't sure he would know him; he was just a legionnaire, not high enough in ranking to meet anyone important just yet save the general himself.

The Dunmer frowned slightly at Mercer's curtness but complied anyway, turning on one heel and reopening the door. At least her job had been made easier; she had certainly not relished the task of wandering all over the large city looking for a group of men for some whelp her master had brought home. She still could not understand Amaund's interest in the girl, alright she was a woman, but a bony, dirty, poor looking one at that and the Dunmer, Vixil, did not think her attractive. She led the way down a large hall with bare wooden walls and a polished wooden floor and then through a door on the right into a spacious living room. It was in here that Amaund and Amaris both sat.

Amaris had refrained from resting in Amaund's bed despite his offer, choosing instead to sit here in a large, crimson chair with a wooden frame at its back carved to mimic antlers and two gold embroidered, scarlet cushions added for extra comfort. She was rigid despite her weariness, and had kept her baggy eyed stare on the crackling amber fire, which sat in a long, stone fireplace with a black, marble mantelpiece. The room had another matching chair, on which Amaund was seated, a couch facing the fire directly and between the chairs and before the fire a low, oak table on which two cups of sweetened tea and a still half-full teapot sat. Apart from that there was little else to the place, Amaund had bought it out of necessity rather than want and only ever used the place for dining and sleeping so he had felt no need to decorate it, save for the essentials and a few sparse gifts given to him from social climbers in Skyrim.

Amaris looked over in surprise as the door opened, filling with relief when she saw Marcurio, Mercer and Cynric before the sight of Hadvar poisoned that with unease. Still all memories of him were a confusing muddle and she wondered if he could or would make them clearer. How did he remember her? What did he know of her absence? The questions burned through her mind immediately as she stood up before tensing awkwardly and looking from Amaund to the group. It would be rude to just flee from him now that her friends had appeared but she was not willing to discuss anything personal in front of him either. He had proven himself kind by aiding her and she did not think he had reason to betray her, he hardly knew her after all, but she did not know her origins or the hazard they posed and she could not risk Amaund learning of them.

Amaund stood up too, turning and revealing himself to the man, causing Cynric to give a small grin and Marcurio to frown slightly. Mercer kept his emotions from his face though he clenched his fists whilst Hadvar just looked puzzled, unlike the others he did not recognise the Breton. "What a coincidence," Cynric commented mockingly, "that we would come to Solitude and you also."

Amaund gave the older man an odd look, wondering and worrying suddenly if against the odds the brown haired man had guessed at his reasons for coming to Solitude earlier than planned. 'Well even if he suspects I like Amaris he couldn't know what brought me here,' Amaund reassured himself, 'no one could guess at that.' He turned to face Amaris and realised with a reluctant pang that their brief time together was once more at an end. He could tell than any offers for all of them to stay would be rejected, she looked eager to leave and he did not think the greying Breton was fond of him. 'What reason could he have to dislike me?' he pondered as he waited for Amaris to speak. 'I did not even talk to him in Whiterun, not even when he dragged her away, rude bastard.'

"I suppose we should go talk somewhere," Amaris said quietly, looking to Cynric. At the moment the bright eyed thief was the only one who seemed friendly, apart from Amaund of course. Hadvar she just could not bear to look at, Marcurio was clearly annoyed and she knew, even if he was trying to hold it in, that Mercer was raging with her for running. She turned back to Amaund with a grateful smile, trying to keep the blush of pink on her neck from creeping up to her cheeks. "Thank you," she said sincerely, "for your help and letting me come here."

He nodded with his own small, still bashful smile. "Of course, are you staying in the city?"

"I suppose so," she answered with uncertainty, "but I don't know how long for."

"Ah well, I am busy anyway," he murmured, "but...where are you staying?"

"We haven't decided yet," Mercer answered frostily. The last thing the thief wanted was this snobby Breton learning their location, who knew how trustworthy he could be?

Amaund nodded again. "Well, we'll leave it to another coincidence then," he said softly to Amaris, "farewell."

"Goodbye," she answered, almost in a whisper before turning hastily to her companions. She wanted to thank the man properly, perhaps with a kiss on the cheek but she daren't in front of the others, and besides, there was no use in stoking the fire when she did not know if she would see him again. He was an important man; she had gathered that, so when he said he was busy she knew he meant it. She once more avoided everyone's stare, save Cynric's teasing one, which had her blushing fiercely as they headed back down the bland corridor and out to Solitude's busy streets.

Mercer wasted no time in grasping Amaris' right hand tightly. "No more running," he snapped at her fiercely with a flash of anger in his stormy eyes.

"Well where are we walking to then?" she asked tartly. She knew Mercer had a right to be angry but could he not understand she was in a terrible shock? Exactly how was someone with amnesia supposed to deal with the sudden appearance of their brother?

"Neutral territory," Mercer retorted in a growl, "we will get a room in an inn and you and Hadvar Frostshone can talk."

Hadvar frowned and wondered why the older man insisted on making his name sound like a wicked thing. "Who are you three anyway?" he queried in annoyance as he looked at Mercer's tight grasp on Amaris' hand. "And what are you to Faylinn?"

Amaris flinched at the name, there it was again, alien and yet familiar, it set her teeth on edge to hear it.

"Well let's see," Marcurio remarked in a mocking voice, "Mercer Frey here is her husband so I guess that makes him your brother-in-law, so surely that's enough for you to trust him though I personally think it just makes him a pervert."

Mercer whirled on the mage with a furious glower as Amaris swallowed down a curse and turned crimson. Marcurio looked to the thief with unflinching smugness as Cynric started to snigger despite himself. 'Last time he calls me a novice,' the Imperial thought to himself. 'Hopefully Hadvar will see sense and get rid of him but I doubt he'll go so easily.'

"WHAT?!" Hadvar exclaimed in outrage and horror. "You're what?! By the eight you're old enough to be her da!"

"We're not married," Mercer snarled back, only just keeping his voice lowered as he was all too aware of all the looks Hadvar was earning them. 'So much for subtly and discretion,' the Guild Master thought angrily, 'I should have removed the stupid mage's tongue.'

"You had better not be!" Hadvar answered hotly. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"A drunken mistake more like," Cynric jested, unable to help himself.

"Drunken what?" Hadvar looked from Mercer to Amaris hopelessly. "Looks like you've plenty to tell me then," he remarked to Amaris with a scolding stare.

Amaris looked back coldly, angered by how trivial Marcurio had made everything. It was as if her lengthy absence was nothing more than that one wild night, a hilarious tale of alcohol and marriage to tell her brother. How could Cynric laugh like this reunion of hers wasn't more serious? How could Marcurio have been so cruel as to tell Hadvar about her marriage to Mercer of all things? Was that really the most important thing to mention and discuss?

"That's not important!" the redhead snapped crossly.

Before she could say anymore Mercer pulled her on snarling, "let's just get to the inn."

They reached the inn as a sombre group, sobered by Amaris' and Mercer's disapproving glares. It was called The Winking Skeever, jovial and busy like most of the inns of Skyrim, they were able to purchase a single room, Cynric explaining smoothly that they simply wanted somewhere private to talk and lunch.

The room was upstairs with two single beds and a chair at a wooden desk. After their lunch was delivered up they finally prepared to talk, Hadvar wondering if the other three men should really be present whilst Amaris struggled over where to even begin.

She sat on one of the beds opposing the soldier whilst Marcurio occupied the chair, Mercer stood near the door and Cynric stood opposite against the wall. "Hadvar do you know how long I've been missing?" she asked quietly as she looked at him pleadingly. "Or where I was? Or when I left? Or why? Because I don't," she explained in a clear voice, "I don't know anything. I turned up at Riften, it was a few months ago, I arrived there in the middle of the night bound in chains and blindfolded," she nodded to Mercer, "and Mercer and his companion Brynjolf found me like that. Before that I remember nothing, there are flashes sometimes and nightmares," she shuddered at this, "but nothing makes sense." She glanced Marcurio's way, the mage's body was turned into the desk though his face was cocked in their direction, he looked perturbed and yet anxious to listen. "Marcurio found me in Riften too; he explained that we had met before, eight years ago, that we were companions for two of those years but that we didn't share much about ourselves. He felt I was running from something but that I wouldn't explain what and that I wanted to stay with him because I was a mage."

The wizard let out a heavy sigh. "Amaris," he interrupted in a grim voice, "there was something else."

All eyes fell upon him, Mercer's accusing and Amaris' surprised.

"It...we didn't bump into each other by chance, well not exactly. I didn't say before because I didn't want you to be angry with me, to get the wrong idea. I wanted to travel with you, I did, now and then, I like you and I want to help you."

"But?" she asked coldly as her eyes grew wide.

"But a courier had come to me on the road, before you did; he bore an anonymous letter and a coin purse. The letter mentioned how a teenager would be on the road up ahead, a female with coppery brown hair and eyes, one grey and one blue, that she would stop me and ask to join me because I was a mage and if I consented I could have the coin purse and then another. I thought nothing of it, took the purse and followed the road and sure enough there you were, just as I told you, running from something or someone, you were happy to see someone else on the road, and happier to find out I was a mage." The Imperial paused, his guilt clear in his brown eyes as he gazed at the fierce faced Amaris. "The second coin purse never came but I didn't care, as I said, I liked you and I didn't want you to think I was only with you because someone paid me."

"But you were," she shouted accusingly. "How could you keep this from me? I've no memory; I'd no clues at all when we met!"

"What would it have helped?" Marcurio demanded. "I had no clues as to who sent the note, how would you get any? What would it tell you anyway? That someone knew you were on that road? Well you could guess at that!" His gaze softened and he held his hands out to her apologetically. "I'm sorry; truly, I told you everything else, about how we travelled all over Skyrim, never staying anywhere in particular. We kept to the wilds, you were afraid of the caves, I was honest about all that, and how we were close even if we didn't share. Please, don't hate me for this, I didn't want you to leave me, that's the truth, that's why I didn't tell you back then but then there was the inn..." He trailed off and suddenly a dark look crossed his features and he jumped up from the chair so violently it slammed against the desk. He pointed at Hadvar with an accusing hand and cried out, "you! You were at the inn! By the eight it was you! There was a group of soldiers, and others, I couldn't recall which group Amaris knew or even who out of them but now I remember, you were there!"

All eyes turned to Hadvar this time, who did not flinch at the accusation; instead he placed his palms on his thighs, leaned forward slightly and sighed. "I was the one who sent you the note too."

Amaris paled and suddenly felt dizzy, she clenched the bedsheets tightly with both hands and looked to the floor as her skin turned cold. This was not what she had been expecting, that her own brother could be behind her vanishing. She was glad of Mercer, Cynric and even Marcurio then, at least Hadvar could not spirit her away again.

"Let me explain," Hadvar pleaded as he felt Cynric's furious gaze and Mercer's warning stare upon him.

"Please," Amaris begged as she looked up with teary eyes, "please tell me, the truth Hadvar, I've wanted to know, needed to know for so long."

Cynric felt an urge to console the girl, to put an arm around her shoulders and remind her that they were there and that he was willing to give his support but he could see how close she was to breaking and feared a kind embrace might only weaken her resolve and send her to tears. So the thief folded his arms instead and continued to frown in Hadvar's direction.

"I was four when you were born," Hadvar explained, "you and I didn't have the same pa, yours was an odd fellow, he came to our house one night badly beating and our ma, kind hearted woman, nursed him back to health. I was too young to tell but there must have been something about him she liked, enough to turn from pa and lie with him. He left though, as soon as he was recovered, seemed like he was running from something, I suspect he was. Anyway, you came along and my pa, well he knew you weren't his and he just couldn't come to terms with it, he thought you were something to fear, he said because of your pa. I didn't understand at the time but he kept you hidden, no one was to know about you except us three.

As we grew I didn't think it was fair that I could go the city and study and learn and make friends but you had to stay in our house, isolated and ignorant. I tried to teach you as I learned," the Nord paused to give an awkward smile, "but I wasn't much good at it. Well we grew and there was no immediate danger and pa relaxed a little and let me take you into town once in a while. Then you turned sixteen and ma, well she grew afraid, she said there were people watching, said they knew about you. She said you were cursed, and that you couldn't leave the house anymore. Your da was no ordinary guy, he carried something dangerous in him, something powerful and he passed it to you."

Amaris started shaking though she wasn't aware of it, Hadvar's words invoked a few scarce memories, of thinking she was a prisoner until she really learned what it was to be one, of the Nord fumbling through books he had no interest in, in a failed effort to teach her and of an always scowling muscular Nord, a legionnaire like Hadvar only with wiry, brown hair and a slap or kick to send in her direction.

"Well then they started to sniff about, the Thalmor, asking people questions in the city about you, it was only a matter of time, ma talked about giving you over, pa said it was best but I didn't think so, I told you to run and you did. Course I realised how foolish that was, you only seventeen and out in the wilderness of Skyrim unarmed having never seen it before. Well I knew you'd have the sense to break off the path so I had to act fast before you were lost, I could only track you so far without leading them to you, I overtook you without you ever knowing, saw the mage near a small cluster of houses and paid a man there to take a message asking him to accompany you. After that I let you go for your own safety, I'd already risked you being caught by following you as far as I did."

"And then what?" Amaris croaked hoarsely as she finally stopped shaking.

Hadvar's face darkened and he bowed his head slightly. "Well they came, they weren't threatening, I thought they would be. I went back after I sent the message to the mage and found the Thalmor in the house with ma and pa. They said you were in danger, said I'd made a mistake letting you go. They said they only wanted to protect you, that there were others out there who would hurt you, even kill you. I asked what they thought you were, the blood of an Aedra, that's what they said. Something so powerful that if the wrong hands got you, well...who knows. They said they wanted to shield you, that they would have the guards to do it but that you would be happy, in peaceful and good confines, never wanting, that they had nothing but love and respect for the Aedra after all."

All of them immediately filled with shock at those words, Amaris couldn't understand it at all, Cynric dismissed it instantly at lies, and Marcurio thought it was a misunderstanding but Mercer took it in and started to contemplate it. If such a thing was true then he had been right all along, Amaris was a prize worth holding onto.

"Well I didn't understand," Hadvar continued, "I couldn't, I thought I had done a terrible wrong letting you go. I asked them to explain more, I thought Aedra couldn't walk the world anymore, course it's not so simple is it? They can't directly walk in it but they have ways, too complicated to explain. Ah they were all very vague about it, for our safety of course. So for two years I regretted what I'd done and I tried to track you, but it was hard, I had my own life to be getting on with in the legion and there was all the trouble with the Thalmor and the Forsworn and the Stormcloaks."

The Nord paused again, shaking his head in regret and despair. He reached for the mug of mead resting on the floor and took a gulp before continuing. "Well I found you again; by chance, you were in The Reach, staying in Old Hroldan's Inn, the pair of you." He looked to the saucer eyed Marcurio before glancing back at the ghostly pallid Amaris. "I was there in training, dealing with Forsworn," he explained, "with Rikke and others. I saw you in the inn, you went to bed but I knew you'd come back so I waited. You did and I told you all about what the Thalmor had said, you confessed to having trouble with Falmer, bandits and hunters alike, that you were afraid and knew you were being hunted. So you agreed to come back to Solitude with me, after I promised you would be safe."

The redhead stopped talking again, this time to let out something that sounded like a sob crossed with a retch. "Oh by the divines I should have let you continue to run, I should have known, the Thalmor have always been treacherous bastards. Liars the lot of them! They took you away and that was it, I thought you were in luxury; safe and well looked after, treated with respect because of this Aedra blood. It was all lies and I might never have known but I kept asking about you, they had said you would send letter but you never did. Well I knew you could barely write but even a scribble would've done and I knew you would've, you had promised to.

It was so long before I learned the truth, I'd travelled over Skyrim fighting and training, always wondering. I questioned other Thalmor I saw, some ignored me, some lied, but one grew cocky, spoke of a woman with cursed blood, imprisoned as she rightfully should be. He warned me not to ask any more, said my life was probably already at risk if I was so obvious with my queries. He said no more and I could get no more out of him.

I tried so hard to find you, I asked mages to scry for you, it took so long and all the coin I had but one could do it, it was brief, just an image in a mirror that lasted for less than a minute but it was enough."

Hadvar's grey eyes brightened with tears and he looked at Amaris with a grief so unbearable she found tears trickling down her cheeks before she could help it. "I saw you chained up like an abused dog, deep in a pit of Falmer, they were torturing you and all the while one of those hooded bastards watched. I thought how to find you, to get you out but there were no answers, and the Falmer had so many pits, mazes of Dwemer ruins and the like. Well it had been four years already, I couldn't let you suffer any longer so I summoned the only ones who might find you, the ones who always find who they have to."

"Who?" Amaris croaked though she thought for once that she knew the answer.

"The Dark Brotherhood. I did the sacrament, called one of them to me and demanded their very best, their leaders. I told them the situation, it was risky but I had to, I couldn't send them into that blindly. I promised them all my coin, all my future wages, my ma's jewels, whatever they had to have to do it. They agreed, two of them, twins, Quintus and Kester Nevingo, I'll not forget those names, Kester was so confident he could find you. Ah I sentenced my own sister to death, such a terrible thing but you were suffering so much worse and you would be chased if you were free and captured again...

Well I waited and waited, got impatient, called the Brotherhood a few times, then finally the news came after a year but it was not what I hoped for. One Brotherhood leader dead and the other mad and talking of Falmer. I knew they'd failed."

"How long ago was that?" Amaris questioned hoarsely as she rubbed the tears from her cheeks. "A year? One more year of suffering and then I got out... Only I don't know how because I wasn't me anymore, I'd forgotten everything."

Hadvar nodded, unsurprised by this. "It took me a year to...well to find the courage to try something else, everyone in the legion thought I must be mad, they knew I was trying to help my sister, they'd known for years but they didn't know what from, I couldn't say that. Those Thalmor have ears everywhere."

"What did you try?" It was Mercer who asked this, the curiosity was burning through him. Somehow this young, average seeming Nord was responsible for so many things in the woman's life, he had done so much for her and all sadly in vain. How then had he finally found success and freed her?

"A pact with a Daedric Prince," Hadvar confessed wearily, "I tried summoning Azura first and then Nocturnal but they ignored me, I went to shrines, made requests of their priests but to no avail. I didn't know who would be interested and I considered Sheogorath of all things but then one came to me, Hircine. He said he would free you because the Thalmor hunt of you had been a great sport that had ended too soon, well I wanted to curse him for that but I'm not stupid, he would have probably turned me into a deer and hunted me down.

So he agreed to free you to see the hunt resumed, for a price of course. A hunting party of his Herne got to test their skills on me, it was close but I beat them, with help mind, he probably didn't like that. It wasn't enough for me though to see you freed I wanted you to forget what you had suffered for six years, it was just too much, I didn't even really know, all I'd gotten was a glimpse. I knew it had been awful though, they were Falmer after all, so I sought out another Daedric Prince to help, Clavicus Vile. Well I knew there was a risk with him, there's a risk with them all but he was willing to grant my wish. He said he would take your memories from you as I had asked. I asked just for the ones of your time in that torture chamber to be removed but perhaps I should have been clearer.

I didn't suspect he had taken all your memories from you, I just knew you were going to be free and that was all that mattered. I thought about seeking you out, and wondered if you risk coming here, I knew eventually I'd have to find out if Hircine lived up to his end of the bargain but I didn't know where you'd appear or how to find you without putting you at risk. Then of course Ulfric Stormcloak had to kill the High King and there was all that business in Helgen, a dragon of all things, the end of the world some say."

At long last the Nord fell silent, his face still full of grief and guilt and now wet with tears. Amaris felt nauseous and hugged her stomach as she looked at the floor. It was too much information to take in and all of it sounded so fantastical. Hadvar had done so much for her, never forgetting her, never abandoning her for dead or worse as it was, he had contacted the Dark Brotherhood and two Daedric Princes for her and who knew how much he had sacrificed to do that? She wanted to cry but her throat was too sore, her sobs spent in the shack in Solitude. Instead she let shock consume her and remained sitting in silence.

* * *

_Hadvar's to blame for everything! Lol, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I will say about the Aedra blood thing, all is not as it seems, it's not like the Thalmor are known for being honest. As always many thanks for the reviews and favourites and please keep them coming!_


	17. Chapter 17- The Mystery of History

Twilight. Amaris placed her palms on her knees and glanced up at the sky. It was there again, those beautiful waves of glowing turquoise, shimmering blue and lustrous green. They were like streaks of silent fire that moved gently in some unfelt breeze. The sky itself was just as lovely tonight, clear and a deep black with dark amethyst smudged into it, and Secunda with a better glow about its sickly form, though Masser's bloody form was almost threatening. The redhead watched the twisting of the aurora in silence for a few minutes before finally turning her attention back to the open book resting on her lap.

Mercer observed her with an obvious irritation, she had been far too calm and quiet for his liking and yet he could not protest or demand something from her because she had requested one night of peace and though he had not consented to it he had not argued against it either. One night of peace and quiet, it was all she had requested after Hadvar's many revelations; it was the only thing she had spoken of. It was Mercer who had made the decision to camp outside Solitude, resting on the hill near the farm just outside the formidable walls. It should have made Amaris feel nervous, vulnerable even but all she had felt was relief and freedom and wondered if she had just been imprisoned for too long to appreciate walls of any kind even if they did keep the Falmer at bay.

The redhead had considered that maybe it was Solitude itself she did not want to be contained in opposed to cities in general, it was the place where her parents had once seen her hidden and effectively imprisoned after all and it was rife with the Thalmor who had sent her into the bowels of the earth to be tortured.

She frowned down at Hircine's name and wondered if the name had struck a chord with her previously not just because he was a Daedric Prince but because he was the one who had freed her. She tried to think of it, to think of him but her mind was just a frustrating blank, had he come to free directly, done it from afar or sent a minion? How did these Daedric Princes work? She thought of Hircine and Clavicus Vile and just sensed beings that put on a mocking pretence of humanity, horned creatures full of malice and power, weakened by their own desires for chaos and control.

Mercer watched as Amaris struggled over the words in the book and knew she was not taking it in anyway. It was just a feeble attempt to distract herself from the real issues. He frowned and leaned back on his palms, he would not help her with this distraction, it was just frustrating, he wanted a reaction from the woman, some indication over what she felt about Hadvar's tale. Though he did not want to listen to her cry he considered that even that might be preferable to silence. Was she upset? Just angry? Or perhaps simply too lost in her mind to feel anything that the true Faylinn would. Maybe she was even relieved, happy to have some explanation for her amnesia.

Hadvar was still in Solitude, though he had been unhappy to see Amaris gone from him again, he had agreed to it on her insistence. If she was in the terrible danger he claimed then his presence near hers would only make it worse, he had to be normal in case he was being watched, whilst they had to put themselves out of the city and out of the grasp of the Thalmor, their agents and the guards and mages they had in their pay. It was a flawed plan, their arrival in the city and quick departure had no doubt been noticed, it did not help that Marcurio had drawn further attention to them by setting fire to a guard and getting them jailed, and there was Amaund, he was important, probably important enough for people to take note of his visitors. All they could hope for was that the Thalmor had not been watching Hadvar all this time and hopefully had not resumed a watch on him since Amaris' vanishing.

After twenty minutes of struggling, Amaris finally closed the book and turned her gaze to the fire. She sat closest to it, sandwiched between the three men, all of them concerned that the Thalmor or Falmer might attempt something under the cloak of night. It was why Mercer had agreed to camp close to the horse farm, there was plenty of activity there, it was by the main path which was still busy with travellers despite how late it was getting and there was a Khajiit camp on the other side of the path, comfortably in sight. Despite this Marcurio was still not happy and had only just ceased grumbling about how they should go back to The Winking Skeever.

"I'll take watch," Mercer offered in a stern voice that made clear he would hear no argument. He was no in mood to sleep but appreciated that he might be tried later in the night and willing to surrender guard duties to another. Although wary of Thalmor and Falmer alike he doubted they would face an encounter with either during the night and it was only thoughts of the true value of Amaris that kept him so awake, certainly not fear.

His words were enough for the mage to lie down on his bedroll and attempt to get comfortable. He was tired and grumpy, not just with Mercer's risky decision but with himself. He had chided himself for withholding information from Amaris but then scorned himself for getting annoyed about it, it was not a memory for her after all, he had never told her about the courier and it had not been what had kept him with her, after all the second coin purse had never come. Yet the mage had to admit to himself had the courier not come to him he would not have consented to burdening himself with a defenceless seventeen-year-old who was obviously ignorant to the wilderness of Skyrim. He rolled over onto his back and stared across to the Khajiit camp. He could not even tell if Amaris was mad with him or not, Hadvar's news had eclipsed his but then when the shock wore off, if it ever would, would she trust him?

'What will we even do now?' the Imperial wondered. 'Should she just risk staying with Hadvar or put as much distance as she can between herself and him? Will her memories ever come back to her? Do the Thalmor even hunt her anymore? Well,' he thought coldly, 'at least we can be rid of the thieves for what profit can they gain from this? Hadvar is no doubt in debt after all he did to save her and even if Mercer is enough of a bastard to sell Amaris to the Thalmor, I don't think Cynric would allow it.' He allowed his thoughts to trail off as he hugged his blanket about himself; the air was getting chilly as the night grew later. He was thankful that he had the sense to buy not just a bedroll from a Khajiit merchant but a thick blanket too, just a pity there were cat hairs on them.

Amaris lay down rigidly, reluctant to sleep and yet reluctant to stay awake with the thieves. She knew if she made eye contact with Cynric a question would come bursting out of him and she knew she could not face it just yet. Quite simply she just did not want to think about it, it was too much in one go and she did not know where to even begin. 'Kester,' she thought sorrowfully, 'where are you? Do you hate me? Did you know the circumstances? How much did Hadvar tell you? How did you escape?' She shuddered as Quintus joined the memory of Kester and hastily banished it. She could not face that again.

Cynric watched Amaris impatiently, waiting for her to fall asleep, he sat by her back staring into the low amber fire moodily wondering, like Marcurio, about what would happen now. Within ten minutes the exhausted woman had finally nodded off into a perturbed sleep. Satisfied that she and the mage were both unconsciousness, Cynric turned his attention to his frosty eyed superior. "What now?" he questioned bluntly. "Do we go back to Riften? Do we wait for Vex and the others, cut our losses and find some treasure with them? Or do we see this through?"

Mercer looked back at the younger Breton emptily for a few minutes before he chose to answer. "Until I find out what Amaris is and what she's worth we see it through," he retorted quietly. "I don't believe that she has Aedra blood," he sneered, "but there is something, the Thalmor went to all that effort to keep her alive but yet they saw her tortured, there's something missing." He frowned, it had been a disappointment to learn the head assassins had been sent to kill her not because she was valuable but because she was loved, a concept not entirely alien to the Guild Master but almost forgotten to him. 'That fool of a guard could have just assumed her dead and moved on with his life, she was a burden on his family, she made his parents afraid and risked them all, so why did he then make so many sacrifices for her?'

Mercer contemplated just accepting his loss and meeting with Vex and whoever she had chosen to bring with her to Solitude and making what profit they could there. He knew though that if he did that the curiosity would just eat at him. He had been so bored until Amaris had come along, the Guild was dying around him and no treasure seemed appealing or interesting enough. The thieves complained about curses to the point of annoyance not realising that their leader had simply stopped caring about everything except himself. Now here was something new and unknown, a spark of excitement that had perked his interest for the first time in years. Yes it meant leaving his assets and Guild in a delicate situation but it also meant a challenge, something to get up for.

Cynric was happy to hear Mercer's answer though he kept his joy from his face. Like the Guild Master he wanted to see the mystery of Amaris through and he did not want to abandon her when she had so much to deal with. He considered jealously that she had her brother now and that maybe he would want to come along and help his sister, but told himself that he could still be there to hold her during her nightmares, make her smile and keep Marcurio and Mercer under control naturally. "Alright," the younger thief consented, "wake me in two hours for the watch." He turned from his leader, lay down and made himself comfortable beneath his blanket.

For an hour Mercer observed the Khajiit going about their business until one stepped carelessly on a tree branch causing Amaris to awake with a start at the sound. The thief glanced over at her impatiently as she sat up and looked about with wild eyes. "It was just the Khajiit," he informed her coolly.

She gazed at him doubtfully, tensing as she heard stray leaves cracking under another Khajiit's boots. "It's dark," she murmured fearfully as she noticed the fire had sunk to a low glow of fading red.

Mercer sighed. "Yes," he remarked sarcastically, "it tends to be at night."

She gripped the hilt of Cynric's dagger tightly with one hand as she looked about their surroundings, turning sharply at each sound- the snort of a horse, the footsteps of a traveller on the path, the faint clunk of a guard's spear sinking into the ground, the distant yip of a fox and the faint murmurs of two Khajiit conversing.

Mercer shook his head in her direction though she did not notice and said firmly, "go back to sleep. I'm awake and watching and in an hour Cynric will be, nothing is going to sneak up on us."

"I know," Amaris said softly, "but I'm still afraid. They lurk in the shadows, they're good at it and they're good at hunting." She swallowed hard and clenched the dagger's handle tighter. "I know you can fight them, even I can, but they have numbers..."

"You can't be like this every night," the thief scorned, "always fearful of them, they ruled you for long enough, don't let them continue to do it. Look, if it will put you at better ease and stop your whining I'll try to teach you to hone your senses. Of course," he added smugly, "it takes years to develop such skills but you can at least learn the difference between a Khajiit and a Falmer."

"So you're staying with me then?" Amaris queried quietly as she looked at him with a calm stare.

"I still don't know your value," Mercer reminded her hastily as he felt awkward at her question, "the Thalmor must have had some reason to hold you captive but not kill you and I don't think it's Aedra blood."

"You won't earn anything for me," she said softly, "unless you plan on selling me to them and if I thought you would break your word like that I wouldn't be here. I wish I could give you something but I have nothing."

"Well maybe the truth about you will lead me to something," he remarked gruffly, "and as unscrupulous as thieves can be I will keep my word." He refused to admit that his curiosity over her almost had him mad; he just could not abandon the mystery now, not when they were so frustratingly close to solving it. 'Are we though?' he pondered moodily. 'Hadvar doesn't seem to know much, so where do we go from here? Well it's not like the Thalmor will give me any coin for her, their style would be a little less honest and bloodier.'

There was a rustle in the long grass, some small creature moving nosily through the night. It was enough for Amaris to tense again and shuffle unconsciously closer towards the Guild Master. "Well I'm grateful for your company," she confessed, "for all of you. I could have never made it so far without you, and whatever your reasons I'm glad it was you three who accompanied me to Solitude."

Mercer was unsure what to say that, he considered reminding her that his motives were purely selfish but he felt it was unnecessary, she knew that after all, and he could not speak for Cynric or Marcurio. "Alright," he grumbled, "now go back to sleep."

She shook her head reluctantly, releasing the handle of the dagger, only to grab it again when one of the Khajiit let out a low laugh that was almost like a cat purring. "Sorry," she said sheepishly as she caught Mercer's disapproving stare, "I just... Well they snatched me away last time," she said pragmatically, "and I know you're on watch but they were fast and..." She faltered over her words, reluctant to insult the Guild Master though she felt he needed reminded that though he was very talented he was not perfect and she was not going to risk her life because of his ego.

Mercer took a moment to think through his next response, the woman was starting to get on his nerves, not just because of her sudden insomnia but also because she had reminded him of his failure to detect the Falmer before. She was right; they had indeed snatched her away from the campsite without him ever sensing them. He suspected that the only reason Amaris had noticed them was not because she had better senses than him but because she had become so accustomed to them and their scent having been with them for so long that she was sensitive to it. "Sit here then," he said swiftly in a low voice, "they won't come so close and if they do they will receive my sword through their guts."

Amaris, thought startled by his oddly considerate offer, did not question it and instead moved closer, abandoning her bedroll and blanket as she did. She gave him a small smile of gratitude but said nothing as she crossed her legs and seated herself beside him.

The Guild Master wanted to question her about her intentions for tomorrow but instead he gritted his teeth and reluctantly honoured her request for peace and quiet. He chose to ignore her presence and continued keeping a wary lookout for anything suspicious. The hour passed by swiftly and towards the end of it the young woman finally nodded off into a peaceful slumber on the short grass and dry dirt. Mercer awoke Cynric for guard duty and though the younger thief was surprised to see Amaris choosing to sleep on the dirt he did not mention it.

When morning finally came Amaris found herself awakening three hours after the dawn. She was surprised to see the sun higher in the sky than expected and even more astonished to realise that she had not been awoken by an impatient Mercer, grinning Cynric or grumpy, definitely not a morning person Marcurio, but instead by the whinnying of a horse accompanied by the trample of a cluster of Nord travellers. She sat up, glancing down dumbly at the blanket that wrinkled down her body as she did. It was her own, repositioned on her during the night, with her pillow placed under head. She wondered how the gesture had not awoken her and guessed she must have simply been that exhausted. 'Foolish,' she scorned herself, 'if I don't notice someone getting so close how could I awaken to the Falmer?' She smoothed down her coppery hued hair and looked about for the others, her eye catching the wooden plate of bread with a pot of honey sitting on her left side.

"Morning," Cynric greeted merrily as he stepped before her.

She looked up at the blue eyed Breton and gave a faint smile. "Morning," she retorted calmly.

"Marcurio is trading with some mages and Mercer is at the stables," Cynric explained. "He was good enough to get us breakfast from some traders with my coin purse," he added dryly, "and to pick up some jewellery from them too."

"A good start to the day for him then," Amaris answered wryly before turning her attention back to the honey pot and bread. She cut the bread into slices with the knife left for her and began spreading generous dollops of honey onto each slice. 'Was the honey bought by chance or was it intentional?' she pondered. 'Someone in the Guild left me honeycomb, I never even really thought about who it was but it could only be him. Mercer was the only one I told about Marcurio saying I loved honey. Why did he go to that effort? I suppose it was simply an attempt to jog my memories, which makes perfect sense. Of course that was it, Mercer Frey is many things but nice is not one of them, I shouldn't make assumptions.'

Cynric took a seat beside Amaris, crossing his legs and attempting to hide his impatience as he waited for her to finish her breakfast. Naturally the thief was eager to query her about Hadvar and his revelations and what she intended to do now. He managed to hold his tongue though he could not help but mentally curse how long it took to chew down each piece of bread. She was savouring each mouthful like it was some rare delicacy; he had not even taken the time to properly taste his own sparse meal of stale bread and strips of pheasant.

When Amaris finally finished Marcurio and Mercer had both returned and were standing watching her curiously. She wiped her mouth quickly, stood up, smoothed down her aged clothes and looked to each male in turn. "I suppose you all want to know what I intend to do then," she commented calmly.

"Yes," Marcurio answered swiftly.

"And how you are," Cynric chirped up with a sympathetic look.

"I intend to return to Hadvar to see if there is anything else he can tell me," she confessed, "about my home, my parents, anything, and if that proves futile then I will seek out Clavicus Vile and have my memories restored to me."

"It won't be that simple," Mercer sneered.

"I don't expect it to be," she retorted as she met his mocking stare with her own serious one, "though I recall little about the Daedric Princes Hadvar made it clear that they give nothing for free. Still, I have to know who I am and then what."

"Yes what," Mercer growled.

"Well let's go find Hadvar then," Marcurio spoke up, "but we'll have to take care. You should wear the hooded cloak," he advised, "and shield your face."

"Alright," Amaris agreed. "Um but before..." She glanced about curiously at the small brook bubbling from under a rock, a few trees, the Khajiit camp and finally the stables. "Well I'd like to wash and change," she confessed. 'And brush my hair and generally stop looking like a mountain tramp,' she thought to herself sardonically. She was unwilling to admit that her appearance of all things did indeed concern her, it had been embarrassing after all to be found in a filthy, snot nosed state by Amaund, a man clearly used to women clad in jewels and silks and smelling of expensive perfumes not horse manure and grime. She did not imagine that thieves used to living underground with Skeevers cared much for smelling nice or looking clean, and Marcurio, though somewhat more caring with appearance, clearly cared more about books and spells than fashion and would no doubt think her silly for thinking of appearance right now.

"You can go to the farm," Cynric said, "they're nice people, they'll let you scrub up there." His grin widened and he leaned forward to press a small coin purse into her dirty palm. "Of course it won't hurt to pay for some extra services."

Amaris gave a grateful nod before lifting her small bag of sparse belongings and heading to the farm house. She was greeted there by a stern faced but friendly Nord woman, who permitted her to use their only bathroom, waving away the offered coin and insisting they had paid enough for the treatment of their horses anyway.

Amaris meant to hurry in the bathroom but catching a glimpse of her dishevelled state in the stained mirror made her pause for a moment and actually debate over what way to present herself. She realised now that the farm owner, Katla's offer of a comb, brush, soap, sponge and oils was not an act of kindness but pity. "When did I become vain?" she queried herself hoarsely as she tried to comb out a knot in her hair. She realised as she laboured with the comb and then the sponge that it was not vanity that drove her but rather self-respect. She had spent too long dirty and in rags and chains, too long never thinking about her appearance, it had not mattered then, matted hair, yellow nails and bloodied skin could not compare to the whips, the spikes and the horrible long, probing claws and fingers. Yes, she recalled cool, delicate fingers down her neck, through her hair and about her throat and shuddered. Being filthy now, it was too close to the old her, the imprisoned her and she did not want to resemble that any longer.

When she was finally as clean as she could manage she changed, selecting out a stolen dress not worn since Markath, with the silver and moonstone circlet that matched it nicely, bringing out the silver in her right eye. She sighed, the circlet was a nice touch adding an element of nobility to appearance but it was too much, too attention grabbing and so with reluctance she put it away, letting her hair hang loose instead. Ready at last she pulled on the formerly white cloak and tugged the hood up over her head. The day was cool and there were a few grey clouds hanging over head, hinting at rain later, so the cloak seemed a suitable choice for the day anyway and was unlikely to draw suspicion upon Amaris.

When she returned to the impatient trio Cynric grinned, Marcurio's moody expression softened and Mercer looked pointedly at her dress with a degree of suspicion. Catching Mercer's stare made Amaris pull her cloak tighter about her and she was suddenly unsure if the dress, which had looked lovely in the mirror, was a good choice.

"Well now I feel scruffy," Cynric jested with a grin.

Mercer wondered why she had picked that dress of all things to wear. 'Her wardrobe choice might be limited,' he thought cynically, 'but was that necessary?' He caught a brief flashback of the pearls glinted in the flickering candlelight as she spun about Dibella's temple with a laugh; it had been odd seeing her so carefree and even odder to feel the same himself. He shook off the memory with loathing; the last thing he wanted was to think about what might have been his own wedding. 'Curse you Sam,' he thought venomously, 'I will find out the truth about you and I will make you pay for making a fool out of me.'

They headed back into Solitude, following behind a small group of travellers. The city was at the closest it could be to a lull with only a few people on the streets as the shops had only just started to open. Hadvar had assured Amaris that he would be about the city from the morning but he could not state where specifically, just that he wasn't working and he would make an effort to keep an eye out for her.

"We should think about getting some new clothes before we leave," Marcurio remarked as they passed Radiant Raiment.

"Trust you to have expensive taste," Cynric jested.

"Oh so I suppose you just steal junk?" Marcurio shot back with a scowl.

The thief flashed him an innocent smile before chortling as they continued walking on. Mercer spotted Hadvar first; he was wearing a similar outfit to yesterday's, a casual version of a guard's uniform, and was just exiting the recently opened Bits and Pieces. The young Nord spied his sister and her companions as he glimpsed to his left. He tensed slightly before making his way over to them. "Faylinn," he stated her name as a greeting and instantly made her feel uncomfortable.

"Hadvar," she greeted cordially with a nod. "Can we talk somewhere privately?" She was straight to the point, eager for information and all too wary of unwanted eavesdroppers.

He nodded this time and retorted, "we can go to the Temple of the Divines, it will be quiet this time of morning." He was hurt by her abrupt and distant manner but told himself that she had amnesia and could not be blamed for not knowing him even if he was her own brother. 'It's better this way so publicly,' he thought, 'at least if the Thalmor are watching they might not be suspicious of her, I'm little more than a stranger to her.' When she did not object to his location choice he turned and led the way.

It was a two storey stone structure built at the back of the courtyard with two flaming braziers placed at the front of the small walled entry to the wooden doors. It had two large doors, each half of an arch, and three windows on the top floor, all of them with double panels and arches, the centre one higher than the other two. Apart from that for such an important building it was largely unremarkable, unguarded and easy to enter. Inside they found a large, quiet room consisting of wooden benches, potted plants and wildflowers, and large rectangular panelled windows in gilded arching frames at the back, high on a wall that curved round. Inserted in the bottom of the wall in alcoves was a shrine to each of the Divines save Talos, for him there was instead an empty space.

They spied one priest, a male in mustard robes who nodded to them before walking on through a wooden door near the back of the room. Satisfied that they were alone, Hadvar led the way to the front of the room and occupied a wooden bench there, turning expectantly to Amaris and waiting for her to do the same.

The redhead looked to the stone symbols that marked out each shrine. They were foreign to her, though she knew she had seen them before, but she could not recall one from the other. She turned away from them, annoyed to have something else to perplex her, and took a seat near Hadvar. "What can you tell me about my parents?" she queried quietly.

"Well..." Hadvar began awkwardly. "Ma's a formidable woman I suppose, a traditional Nord, loyal to Skyrim and the Empire-"

"She's still alive?" Amaris interrupted as she turned to face Hadvar with a surprised look.

"Of course," Hadvar retorted with an uneasy expression, "we lived just outside the city walls but with pa, my pa, gone, and me in the legion, she moved into the city a couple of years ago for company. She has a small house near the Hall of the Dead."

"Could I see her? Or...She didn't want me right, I mean I frightened her but that was then..."

Hadvar rubbed his neck with in an awkward and stiff manner. "I...She just didn't understand you, or your pa, I mean she loved you of course, and it would be dangerous anyway, for both of you."

Amaris bowed her head slightly before commenting calmly, "I understand, and my pa? Who was he?"

"I wasn't yet four when ma found him one night, not far from our door, beaten and disoriented. I remember he had these piercing eyes, one of amber and one of blue, despite all the pain he was in he was alert and wary. His robes were covered in blood, he was in bad shape." The soldier paused and looked at his sister seriously before continuing, "I don't mind admitting it was scary for a four-year-old seeing a man in that state. It took five days or so of ma nursing him before he could even stand properly again. Pa wasn't impressed but he couldn't turn away someone so badly hurt. The man babbled about needing to move on, something had him spooked but ma said it was just his fever making him see things.

I don't know how long he stayed for, I just know that he was quiet in my presence, and I hardly saw him. He had pointed ears, I remember that, only smaller than usual." He remarked firmly, "I'd been to the city plenty of times and seen enough Altmer to know he wasn't quite one, and no Bosmer or Dunmer either. He was fair skinned, paler once the grime and blood came off, and dark haired, black as ebony, I remember that well, strange against those eyes.

Ma wanted to burn his robes but he protested, got angry about it, so she washed and mended them, I don't recall much about them, I think they were yellow, hooded, a bit like the ones the priests here wear but he wasn't a priest, and he had a jewel at his belt, I of course was fascinated by that, it was blue and it glowed."

Hadvar paused and sighed apologetically at his sister. "And that's it, all I can remember about him. His age, his name, his origins or where he went, I don't know."

"Ma would though, wouldn't she?" Amaris queried quietly.

Hadvar stiffened at this and shrugged uneasily. "Truthfully, I don't know if she would admit to it if she did and...well probably not to you. I don't...Faylinn; I don't know how she would react to you."

"Okay."

Hadvar frowned, her calmness bothered him, if she wasn't upset wasn't she at least annoyed or angry? "I'm sorry Faylinn," he murmured sincerely.

"Amaris," she corrected softly, "it's Amaris now."

He looked surprised at first then realisation struck him, of course she hadn't been going around nameless all this time and hadn't the younger thief called her that? "And that's my fault," he said guiltily, "because of me you don't know who you are."

Amaris reached out a hand to grip his larger, calloused one and she gave him a small smile. "No, you meant only for me to forget the pain, it was the Daedric Prince who stole everything. It doesn't matter anyway, Faylinn was a prisoner, a victim of torture, I don't want to go back to being her, I want to remember being her yes but I don't want to return to it."

Hadvar glanced about the temple, checking that no one else had sneaked in. Cynric, Mercer and Marcurio all remained standing close, listening carefully to each word. "Can I ask something?" he queried quietly.

Amaris nodded quickly. "Of course."

"I know you said it didn't matter but it does to me..." He paused and looked awkwardly at the imposing Mercer. "Are you really married? To him?" he added with another glance at the thief.

Amaris burned crimson as Cynric snickered. "I...we had a lot to drink that night," she confessed shamefacedly, "a lot and it's a night none of us really remember, not just me. I guess we thought it would be a good idea at the time." She dared to glance over at Mercer who was purposely impassive.

"Why him?" Hadvar blurted out. He looked to Mercer too and said, "no offence but you're old enough to be her pa."

"So you've said," Mercer growled back at Cynric chuckled. "What's done is done, if it even happened and we don't know that it so let's just move from this unpleasant subject."

Amaris frowned and her gaze turned frosty. "As I recall the priestess of Markath said that you insisted on the wedding," she reminded him haughtily.

"Oh fine time for your memory to work," Mercer grumbled.

Hadvar glanced to the right as a door opened and one of the priests walked out. "Well," he addressed Amaris quietly as he turned back to her, "I should go but don't leave Solitude without saying goodbye to me alright?" His grey eyes seemed to shine brighter than usual and she could see the grief that filled them. "I wish I could come with you but the Thalmor would notice."

Amaris nodded in understanding before surprising them both by leaning across to hug the young Nord. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear as she held back her own tears, "than you so much for all you've done, I can never repay such kindness or love. You sacrificed so much for me Hadvar and it worked, I'm free so don't you dare ever regret it or feel guilty over it."

He embraced her return and murmured, "so long as you're free and happy I won't."


	18. Chapter 18- The Art of Stealing

"So now what?" Cynric queried chirpily as they exited the temple and watched Hadvar hurry on his way.

"Now," Amaris said firmly, "you help me rob my mother's house."

"I'm sorry what?" Cynric retorted as he looked at the redhead in disbelief. Seeing the serious look in her blue and silver eyes caused a sly grin to spread across his face.

Amaris turned up to him with a calm face and remarked, "well I'm not a thief technically and I wouldn't want to step on the Guild Master's toes by committing such a crime without permission."

"You'd get yourself caught," Mercer retorted derisively as he folded his arms and actually seemed to consider the prospect. "We don't do jobs for free," he added smugly.

Marcurio frowned, the disapproval clear on his youthful face. "Really?" he queried tauntingly. "You want paid to commit larceny?" He rolled his liquid brown eyes and stated airily, "surely you'd want to do anything to help Amaris find out whom and what she is, that's your interest right?"

Mercer shrugged. "I've already done enough unpaid, it's time my charity came to an end."

Before Marcurio could exclaim an insult Amaris spoke up swiftly with a small smile, "you can take whatever you deem worthy from the house; so long as it's not useful to me feel free to pick it dry."

"How gracious," Mercer sneered as he turned his aggressive grey stare on her, "for you to offer someone else's belongings as payment."

"Someone else's belongings are surely the only kind of payment a master thief would accept," the redhead retorted teasingly.

"Well it has been a while," Cynric remarked before he cracked his knuckles and flexed out his arms, "and we have been getting rusty." He looked to his superior and smiled. "Call it practice for whatever we take with Vex and the others?"

"Vex and the others?" Marcurio echoed with a deep look of mistrust.

Cynric flashed the mage a smile bright with feigned innocence before turning back to the Guild Master.

"Alright," the greying thief grumbled at last, "but this woman better not be poor."

Amaris gave a grin of satisfaction that irked the master thief before she looked about the streets curiously and warily. There were a few Altmer walking about but it was impossible to tell if they were Thalmor or not, she recalled sable, hooded robes but knew that could not be their only uniform and that there was nothing to suggest that they wore those all the time. "We need to find the Hall of the Dead, Hadvar said she lived near it," she murmured.

They started walking, Cynric charming some directions from a buxom, green eyed Imperial. It did not take them long to reach the hall, which was near a cluster of wealthy houses, though not as far back as Amaund's house. Amaris glanced ahead to where the noble Breton's house lay, unseen behind the blocks of other houses and the crowded Bards' College.

There was only one house directly beside the Hall of the Dead, two storeys tall though a wooden hatch at its left side hinted at a basement below. It was mostly stone with supporting wooden beams, a tiled roof and a few windows, clear and divided into squares with simple black lining.

"I thought he said small," Cynric murmured sardonically as he looked up at the building doubtfully.

"Well compared to the rest it is," Amaris pointed out. The other houses were three to four storeys tall, many with added extensions and balconies.

"I'm not helping with this," Marcurio commented firmly as he folded his arms and scowled pointedly at the trio.

"Good," Mercer retorted sharply, "the last time you helped you got us arrested."

Marcurio attempted to splutter a retort but the Guild Master had already turned his attention away from the mage and was walking to the narrow left side where the entrance to the basement sat in the shadow of the wall. There was another house close by helping to further conceal the Breton as he crouched down before the lock. Within seconds he had it off and was opening the wooden panel swiftly and quietly.

"Come on then," Cynric urged quietly as he pushed Amaris ahead of him.

"Um how do you know there's no one in?" she queried hesitantly as she looked at the entrance nervously.

The younger Breton let out a soft laugh. "It doesn't matter to a thief," he informed her cockily, "the best of us can steal things right from under someone's nose."

"And those of us who aren't thieves?" she questioned dryly as she halted before the dark entrance.

"Try not to be too clumsy," Cynric advised.

Amaris nodded dumbly before crouching and jumping down into the basement, she landed awkwardly on the steps and only just managed to stay upright before Cynric joined her in a smoother movement, closing the door behind him as he did.

The basement was gloomy with only two flaming torches to offer light, one in the centre of the right wall, the other near the wooden steps leading up to the main floor. All the room seemed to contain was a crate of wine bottles, another of brandy and a third of the expensive Black-Briar Reserve. Already seeing that there was nothing of interest, Mercer had listened close to the floorboards above before opening the lock on the door. He glanced back to Cynric and Amaris and waited until they were closer before opening the door slowly and heading out into the hall at a narrow crouch.

Amaris followed after him, waddling like a duck as she attempted stealth, causing Cynric to choke back silent laughter as he followed after her. Mercer paused at an open doorway to the left and peered out into a medium sized living room with a smooth wooden floor, wooden panelling on the walls, a large fireplace with an imposing portrait of a brown haired, stern eyed Nord Imperial soldier hanging above it, a rich jade couch with two matching arm chairs, a book shelf and two tall shelves of ornaments and trinkets, both with two locked drawers beneath them. In addition to that was a thin stemmed wooden stand with a glass case, which was locked and bore a few items resting on a sheet of soft, crimson velvet.

The room was brightly lit thanks two windows against a single wall and several amber flamed torches burning from horns resting in iron rings against the walls. For decoration there were a couple of potted plants growing in a half-hearted manner, placed in the corners of the room to be ignored, and some small portraits in gilded frames.

Satisfied that the room was safe, Mercer hurried to the glass case and began unfastening the lock. Amaris gazed at the portraits, frowning up at the imposing Nord male before spying one of a beautiful but cold eyed Nord woman with hers and Hadvar's dark russet hair and grey eyes, dull and dark like Hadvar's they lacked Amaris' silver sheen.

"If she has anything about my pa it will be hidden," Amaris guessed quietly.

Mercer frowned down at the tarnished gemstones he had freed before pocketing them as Cynric unlocked two drawers below one of the shelves. He found only deeds and bills within along with some gloves and scarves, the next set of drawers proved even worse as one was completely empty and the other only had a few coins in it.

They took ten minutes hurrying through the rest of the downstairs, finding nothing of value in the kitchen. In a small room to the left of the kitchen there was a small statuette of Dibella with a few offerings of perfumed oils, pearls and gold coins before it. Mercer snatched up the pearls, grumbling that if the Aedra wanted them she would have taken them by now whilst Cynric described the Aedra as a goddess of 'lust' to Amaris.

Accepting that there was nothing of interest on the lower floor, a frustrated Mercer crept upstairs with Amaris and Cynric close behind him. Amaris tensed up and mentally cursed a stair creaked beneath her foot but when no one came running, screaming accusations of trespassing she continued on.

There were three rooms upstairs, two bedrooms and a bathing room. One bedroom was evidently more of a storage room, though clean and well kept it was littered with drawers, cabinets, two wardrobes and two stands of shelves. Cynric and Amaris went into this room whilst Mercer headed to the main bedroom, which had a large double bed with a green velvet curtain drawn around it with gold trim, a mahogany double door wardrobe with a matching chest of drawers and table with a large vanity mirror on it and a locked chest. Mercer pocketed the jewels and trinkets left in boxes about the vanity table with ease before moving to the chest. There was a master lock on the chest but he opened it effortlessly, smirking to himself as he was able to do it with a simple lock pick rather than his more sophisticated one. It took a little time but it was only thirty seconds at the most before it clicked free.

The master thief frowned down at the contents; he had been expecting jewels of a rare and expensive nature or pouches of gold but not documents, a dusty, flat case of ebony with gold inlay, a forgotten, tarnished brooch depicting a gold dragon with a garnet for an eye, and some filthy looking robes. Knowing that documents could be more valuable than gold the thief picked them up and hunted through them hastily. He unfolded and refolded them carefully as he scanned through them swiftly, his interest perking up when he came across an envelope addressed to Faylinn. He placed it in a pocket against his breast without a moment's thought and continued searching.

In the spare room it was Cynric who found the false panel in the wall, after walking about tapping the walls noisily. It was to the lower left, invisible to the eye and betrayed by a slight echo Amaris did not detect. With some more fumbling the thief caused the panel to sink into the wall, opening up a narrow rectangular gap carved into it. He grinned at the silver necklace, bronze tiara and copper bracelets that winked back before snatching them up, along with the modest pouch of gold coin.

Amaris was not concerned with the thieves leaving her mother penniless, only dismayed that she could find no clues to her origin or her father's identity. She searched the house with a cool but frustrated expression, scanning through every nook and cranny as best she could; missing out on what seemed like obvious hiding places. It was Cynric who pointed them out to her, commenting on the telltale signs- a lack of dust, a finger smudge, a groove that was out of place, an extra lock or the echo that suggested a false compartment in a box. There was nothing much to steal, the boxes contained a sword, shield and Legionnaire armour that Amaris guessed belonged to Hadvar's late father.

Feeling they had spent enough time in the house and wary of someone returning, as the cleanliness of the place suggested a servant or two, Mercer urged them out, leading them back down to the basement and out its side door. They found themselves greeted by an impatient Marcurio who filled with relief at first before giving them a scolding glower. "I hope you got enough for the day," he chided them.

"Only for the morning," Cynric retorted back merrily. "Let me buy you lunch with my stolen wares."

"I don't want any part of your crime," Marcurio replied angrily as he turned away from the younger thief.

"You have been travelling with us for over a month now," Cynric pointed out, "I'd say you are definitely an accessory to crime at this point."

"I am not!" the mage retorted heatedly though worry sparked in his brown irises at the thought.

"Well you've already got a record for being a pyromaniac," Cynric reminded him.

Amaris smiled and shook her head gently but said nothing.

"Let's get lunch," Cynric suggested as his stomach gave a low growl. "We'll go to the market and get something nice."

Hearing no protests the thief led the way to the market, which was growing crowded under the rising sun. As usual there was a mixture of races, professions and ages crowded about the different stalls, and a small presence of Imperial soldiers. Children chased each other about, playing tag and throwing balls, women gossiped near the centre of the market area, a Nord selling cooked meats sneaked a small chunk to his friend's dog and an Argonian bartered for some pearls. The air was thick with many pleasing scents of cooked meats, spiced breads, fresh seafood, savoury pies and honeyed treats as well as sweet rolls and cakes still warm from the ovens.

Amaris felt her own stomach give a growl as the smells filled her whilst Cynric rushed to a collection of pheasants and rabbits eagerly. Marcurio, missing red meat, followed after the thief though he tried to manoeuvre himself as near to the stall and yet as far from Cynric as possible.

"Would you like some rabbit stew, mage?" the thief queried chirpily as he turned to spy the Imperial through the gathering crowd and smiled. "Or some chicken pie? I could get you one or both."

Marcurio scowled and hunted through his own pockets for change. Noticing that his coin purse had been severed from his side he hunted through his robes in a panic before hearing the chink of coins close to his left ear. He turned sharply and saw his familiar worn, red purse bouncing up and down in Cynric's palm.

"Looks like you are a septim short of lunch," the thief mocked, "sure I can't buy you something?"

Marcurio spat several swears at him and turned from the stall, storming off in a fury. Cynric chuckled before ordering several rolls of pork and two skewers of beef, sweetened with a sticky, brown sauce. Accepting these gleefully, he hurried after Marcurio and waved a skewer under his nose as he simultaneously bit into a chunk of meat on the second skewer. "Delicious," he taunted between bites, "so tender and sweet. You should try it," he urged.

The mage snarled an insult at him before turning from him once more, almost hitting him when he found the skewer beneath his nostrils once more. "Leave me alone!" he snapped.

"Just one bite, it won't hurt," Cynric urged.

Amaris looked to the stalls of fruit and vegetables instead, still unable to stomach the sight and smell of meat. The memories were brought too close to the surface at the sight of Cynric chewing down chunks of beef on his skewer and the redhead knew she would only be sick if she attempted to eat any meat.

"Ha you took a bite your soul is damned!" Cynric taunted as Marcurio swallowed down a bite of the skewer at last.

"Asshole!" the mage cursed at him inelegantly as his cheeks turned a faint pink and he snatched the skewer from the thief.

Cynric continued to giggle whilst Marcurio paced off to eat the rest of the skewer in peace. Amaris looked their way curiously and had to smile at the sight. 'I really don't know if those two hate or adore each other,' she thought wryly.

"Here, don't eat the core."

She turned in surprise to accept the red apple Mercer held out to her with a frown. "Thank you," she murmured as she took it in one hand and rubbed it against her dress to clean it.

The thief said nothing, instead biting into the chicken roll he had pilfered for himself. It had been embarrassingly easy to lift the food; the vendors were too busy with the crowd to notice his quick hands taking what he pleased.

They stayed in the market area for close to an hour, sitting on two nearby benches, Mercer and Amaris on one and Cynric and Marcurio on the edges of another, eating their food and watching the performances of Bards, Khajiit doing sword tricks, and Argonians playing with fire. Unimpressed, Mercer finally insisted that they move on, leading them to the entrance of the city. It was here that they met Vex accompanied by Vipir, Thrynn and Sapphire.

The pale haired Imperial cast an unfavourable look on Amaris before turning her golden-brown eyes onto Mercer, her gaze filling with a hint of pride mixed with joy. "Looks like we got here in good time," she remarked calmly.

"Good to see you," Cynric greeted happily, "when did you guys get here?"

"This morning," Vex answered coolly as she gave the Breton a quick glance. She took a couple of steps towards the Guild Master and remarked quietly, "I brought a list of jobs we can do here in Solitude. Hopefully they won't just cover our expenses but net us a profit too. The Guild is facing some serious problems."

"Show me the list," Mercer commanded frostily.

Vex plucked it out from a pocket in her black top and handed it over to her superior. 'I can't believe he's still wasting time with that girl,' she thought in annoyance. 'The Guild is falling apart and our leader is halfway across Skyrim with some troubled pauper.'

"We'll hit the Blue Palace," Mercer decided as he handed the list back, "you, me and Thrynn."

"Hey!" Cynric protested immediately.

"Sapphire," Mercer ignored the Breton, turning his attention to the proud and beautiful Nord, "you and Vipir will go to the Bards' College and obtain the pipe requested from there."

Sapphire nodded with a serious expression.

"What about me?" Cynric demanded as he looked to his superior in infuriation.

Mercer gave him a cold smile before answering, "you stay with Amaris, someone needs to watch her and I don't trust the mage."

Cynric frowned, filling with anger when he saw Vex's smug smile. Amaris too filled with her own anger though she curbed her tongue and instead gave a small grimace. 'He still doesn't trust me not to run off,' she thought moodily, 'or is willing to think of me as something other than property.'

"So when will we go?" Vex asked eagerly, unable to keep her excitement from her voice. It was rare for Mercer to do any personal jobs these days, and even rarer for him to have anyone accompany him.

"Now," Mercer decided.

Vex gave a wide, thin lipped smile before nodding joyously and shooting Cynric a final spiteful look.

"Cynric don't leave the city," Mercer commanded. "We will meet again at sundown," he decided, "by the Winking Skeever." He turned without waiting for consent and started walking off, with Vex by his side and Thrynn close behind them.

"Looks like you got demoted," Marcurio was quick to taunt Cynric. He gave a small yelp when the thief gave him a soft but still painful punch to the gut.

Sapphire shook her head disapprovingly at the Breton before turning to the grinning Vipir and rolling her eyes in disgust. The dark haired Nord was certainly not her first choice for doing a job with, being far too fond of making advances to her, but orders were orders. "Let's go," she said to him coldly before turning back to Cynric. "We'll see you later Cynric."

The blue eyed thief nodded dismissively. "Yeah, later Sapphire," he answered gloomily. He had been looking forward to doing a job, casual thefts for food and clothes were not quite the same as an actual Guild job and the thieving of Amaris' mother's house had gotten him warmed up and in the mood for a real job. 'This isn't fair,' he thought in despair, 'it's not like Amaris has anywhere to go or even would go somewhere else if she could. Mercer's been a dick to her since day one and she's still in his company, by Oblivion I think she even likes his company.'

Cynric sighed and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he became conscious of Amaris' miffed stare and Marcurio's mocking smile.

"Would we get scolded for looking at the Blue Palace?" Amaris queried tartly. "It's just I'd like to while we're here, only from the outside of course."

Cynric sighed and lowered his hand. "I suppose it's something to do," he muttered. "Let's go find it then."

They walked at a casual pace, none of them feeling any need to rush towards the landmark. They walked through small crowds with ease, Marcurio pausing to discuss spells with other wizards and Cynric halting to openly flirt with some beautiful noblewomen. Amaris did not mind the delays, happy that the men could find something to occupy their time with, although Solitude still made her feel uneasy. She knew it was because of Hadvar's warning about the Thalmor, and that though it was silly to fear that any passing Altmer instinctively knew her, it would be equally foolish not to be cautious of the busy streets of the city.

"Please take pity on an old madman!"

Amaris was brought out of her dark thoughts by the elderly Dunmer beggar who came running up to her. He looked to her with pleading red eyes and cried out, "hear my plea! My master, he is lost between worlds and I cannot bring him back!"

Amaris glanced out of the corner of her eye for Cynric and Marcurio but they were both occupied. 'He sounds sincere,' she reasoned with herself, 'and I can't smell any drink or skooma on him.' "What's wrong?" she queried kindly.

"My master has abandoned me! Abandoned his people. And nothing I say can change his mind. Now he refuses to even see me. He says I interrupt his vacation! It's been so many years... Won't you please help?" He looked at her pleadingly; his eyes wet with tears, and gestured wildly in the direction of the palace.

"Um...how can I help?" Amaris wondered aloud. "Where is your master?"

"Last I saw him; he was visiting a friend in the Blue Palace. He went into the forbidden wing of the palace, to speak with an old friend. Said it had been ages since they had last had tea," the man explained in a babble. He fumbled with his threadbare pockets and then a satchel, from which he produced a large object, which he shoved into Amaris' pallid hands. "No entering Pelagius' Wing without that," he remarked triumphantly.

Amaris looked down at the object and let out a shriek of alarm, immediately drawing Marcurio and Cynric's attention.

"What's wrong?" the thief questioned as he came towards them and stared at the beggar accusingly.

"It's a bone!" Amaris cried out as she threw the object at the thief.

Cynric caught it awkwardly and held it out in confusion as Amaris wiped her palms against her dress rapidly. "What the..." Cynric turned the object over in his hands and paled slightly. "Is this what I think it is?" He looked at the beggar in horror and threw it to him. "You're disgusting!"

The beggar caught it with a look of rage and held it out to Amaris with both hands. "You need it to get in to the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace," he said in frustration.

"I am not touching that again," Amaris retorted firmly.

"Is that someone's hip bone?" Marcurio questioned in disbelief as he peered closely at the object.

"Please," the beggar pleaded, "I need my master."

"Well we will look for him," Amaris offered, "but just put that thing away."

The Dunmer sighed and mumbled, "I found the bone! I've brought it to you but still I am refused..."

"Who are you talking to?" Cynric queried as he studied the man carefully, quite certain that he was mad.

"Master," the beggar answered as if it was obvious, "he has forbidden me from saying his name. He says it distracts him." He shook his head in bitter anger. "Our homeland is falling apart, please," he held out the bone once more, "please help me find him."

"Look," Amaris said, her own frustration slipping into her voice, "I've said we will help but that's not a key, it's a part of someone."

"Yes!" the man exclaimed. "That's the point, not all keys are of brass."

"No some are iron," Cynric commented brightly.

Marcurio sighed, slipping his robes down over his wrists and palms. "Just give it here," he ordered as he held out his hands, now safely protected by the folds of his robes.

The Dunmer gave him a wide, yellow toothed smile and thrust out the bone. "You must use it to find my master," he said sternly.

Marcurio nodded wearily. "Yes of course, in the Blue Palace, I know."

The Dunmer nodded anxiously as he released the hip bone to Marcurio's care and then ran off towards an alleyway, singing as he did.

"Well that was weird," Cynric murmured as he watched the beggar run. "So are you going to throw that thing out or wait for the guards to ask you where you got it from and arrest you for grave robbing?" he queried Marcurio.

The Imperial gave the thief a glower before tucking the bone into his bag. "It will be fine there for now," he murmured.

"Why in Oblivion are you keeping that?" Cynric demanded as he eyed the bag with disgust. "That is part of a dead person, are you into collecting bones because if so you're not travelling with us anymore."

"Don't be daft," Marcurio scorned.

"We might need it," Amaris piped up.

"For what?" Cynric demanded as he whirled round to give the redhead a look of suspicion.

She gave the thief an innocent look and answered carefully, "for exploring the Pelagius Wing."

"Oh no," Cynric snapped swiftly as he waved his hands at her in protest, "not a chance. That man was mad, simple as."

"And if he's not and his master is a nobleman in the palace?" Amaris queried.

Cynric shrugged. "Who cares? He can find him himself, or the master can find him, it's not our problem."

"Oh come on, he pleaded with us," Amaris pointed out as she put her hands on her hips and looked at the thief sternly.

He shook his head once more and murmured sardonically, "beggars always plead, it's what they do. Look, this isn't worth me losing my head to Mercer's sword, if he wanted us in the Blue Palace we would be there."

"Do you always do what he tells you?" Marcurio asked mockingly.

Cynric gave the mage a look of exasperation. "Of course," he answered quickly, "well mostly. You've spent enough time with him to know that he doesn't take disobedience well."

"Cynric," Amaris spoke up reasonably with a gentle smile, "he didn't tell any of us not to go to the palace, so it's not disobedience."

"Well..." Cynric paused as a thoughtful look crossed his features. "Alright, but we're only going to the Pelagius Wing, nowhere else in the palace," he said firmly.


	19. Chapter 19- Madness and Theft

The Blue Palace was as impressive inside as it was out, at least to Thrynn, Mercer acted as if travelling through it was a chore whilst Vex kept up her no nonsense keep moving without sightseeing attitude that had served her well in the Guild. The former bandit was glad enough just to be out of Riften and exploring but how could one not be pleased to have such striking quarters to delve through? It certainly beat dragur plagued ruins or spider infested caves. It was an added bonus that Thrynn did not have to put up with either the irritable Cynric Endell or the pathological liar Vipir.

They had travelled with ease through several large chambers and hallways already, not once drawing suspicion from the many guards, servants and patrons that bustled through the chambers, too busy to be concerned as to why the three were travelling through the palace. For the residents of the palace it would be odder for there not to be strangers wandering about, as the residence of the deceased High King of Skyrim it was often full of delegates local and foreign, restless nobles, pleading Bards and hopeful riffraff.

"Did the girl find her history then?" Vex queried coldly as they approached their destination- a hall at the end of which were the Jarl's chambers. She had been eager to ask the question since seeing Amaris still disappointingly in Mercer's company but had refrained, considering the master thief might rebuke or ignore her. Frustration and curiosity, and perhaps envy, had overrode fear of the Guild Master's tongue however and the question had slipped out. "I suppose you haven't been here long," the white haired thief gave her superior an out, a potential excuse, "but if her past isn't here, well you'll be coming to back to Riften with us, right?"

Mercer gave the female thief an impatient look before crouching low by a bench as a Breton maid emerged from a door to the right. Thrynn and Vex copied suit, Thrynn choosing to hide behind a tall tree whilst Vex hugged the wall and sank low on her knees. Once the maid had wandered on through another door they stood up and continued on, moving in a slow stealth mode.

Reaching the double doors, Mercer looked pointedly at Vex giving her the chance to pick the lock. Eager to demonstrate her skills, the Imperial thief moved to the lock and got to work. Mercer grew bored fast, knowing he could open the lock much quicker than Vex, but it wouldn't do to let his inferiors get lazy and think that they could rely on him to do all the work. It took a couple precious minutes for Vex to free the lock but she did it quietly and with only one pick granting them entry to the sizeable chambers.

"Must be lonely for the Jarl now," Thrynn murmured quietly as he eyed the large bed, it was too big for two people never mind one. It had intricately engraved posts of mahogany, lush green sheets of the finest velvet and four plump pillows.

"I'm sure she's plenty of suitors offering to warm that bed," Vex sneered as she hurried to the large, old and heavy looking cabinets, lifting up a silver goblet to study it. She placed it down and looked to Mercer who had moved to the bookshelves and was skimming through the titles. "The crown should be made of gold," she said calmly, making sure she was loud enough for both males to hear but not so loud that anyone else might detect her voice, "with a moonstone on the front, sapphires in each point and a dragon wrapped around its base."

Mercer ignored the woman whilst Thrynn moved to a table in the centre of the room, frowning at the tiny lock on it before tugging out a lock pick. Thrynn was the muscle of the group, recruited by Brynjolf to collect unpaid debts for the Guild, he loathed using lock picks and had only learned how to after Cynric's endless taunting upon learning this fact.

Vex watched disapprovingly as her boss stole two books from the shelf, both in good condition, leather bound with a gilded font. Yes they might grant some coin but hardly enough to be worthwhile, not when they in a Jarl's chamber with much better things to steal. "The Guild is falling apart Mercer," Vex remarked sternly as she moved towards one of the chests in the room and began to work on the lock, "we need a lot of coin to keep things afloat."

"Well we're thieves aren't we?" came the moody retort. "So getting coin shouldn't be a problem."

Vex cursed as she snapped a pick in her anger. "It's not," she grumbled, "it's getting enough and keeping it that's the problem, more and more of us are getting arrested and killed."

"Well if they're that stupid they don't deserve to be Guild members," came the dismissive answer. The Breton had moved on to the Jarl's jewellery box now and was pilfering through necklaces, bracelets and earrings of silver, gold and pearl with emeralds, rubies and sapphires for decoration.

"I agree," Vex confessed reluctantly earning a surprised look from Thrynn, "but with our bad luck more members are leaving and we need people to replace them. It would be good if you came back."

"Why?" Mercer queried sharply. "Can you lot not cope without supervision for a few days? Maybe I should change the chain of command if that's the case."

"It's not!" the female retorted heatedly as she let her anger get the better of her. It was not at Mercer though but rather the humiliation and doubt his words caused her, was she getting bad at thieving? No, that was nonsense but perhaps she wasn't doing her best as the third leading member of the guild, perhaps she should get tougher with the recruits or devote more time to their teaching or come up with better plans or take better jobs, just something that would make Mercer value her rather than scorn her.

"It's been weeks though Mercer, not days," she said boldly as the chest's lock clicked free at last, "and how many more will it be? Look if this job with the girl is going to pay off well then fine, take as long as you have to, but at least give me something to assure the others."

Their gazes met, Mercer's accusing stare turning thoughtful whilst Vex's remained bold. "Amaris is from here," Mercer admitted quietly, "and she's valuable enough for the Thalmor to seek her out. Now for all the things that lot of pointy eared assholes are, they are not stupid and wasteful with resources, if they think she is valuable then she is."

Vex pursed her lips and considered that her next suggestion might not have been voiced if it was anyone other than Amaris but for some reason the redheaded female managed to get under her skin. "Sell her to them then," she said frostily before deliberately turning from his gaze and looking instead at the contents of the chest. 'What could the Thalmor want with her?' Vex pondered. 'Was she a Talos worshipper? Hardly a reason to pursue her over Skyrim, they'd probably just kill her if they saw her; simple as, they've enough other worshippers to occupy their attention anyway, one wouldn't stand out. So what then and what's it to do with her having no memory and nightmares?'

"I'm not in the habit of selling people," Mercer answered with enough ice in his voice to chill Vex's blood, "we are thieves not slave traders."

Vex nodded into the chest as she pocketed a glowing red jewel, and a pearl and gold bracelet with a gold heart pendant on it before lifting out the sought after crown at last. "It was just a suggestion," she said indignantly before she closed the chest lid and took a moment to marvel at the crown. It was a work of art, a relic from the days of the Dragon Priests, rumour had it that the late High King Torygg had gifted it to his wife but she had either considered it too valuable or extravagant to actually wear, save on special occasions. "Don't waste your time on her if she's a dead end," she said to Mercer pleadingly, "and just come to the Guild. Look, no one's as good as you, though we do try and..." She paused, glanced swiftly to Thrynn who was occupied with the lock on the desk drawer still, and then looked back to Mercer. "I think we should work together, jobs like this, start making a name for us again... make them start fearing us like they did long ago," she spoke up with a passion in her voice, her pale, gold tinged gaze full of pride and hope.

Mercer's lip curled up slightly as he considered his answer, before he could however they heard someone approaching the door and were forced to move quickly into hiding places. As luck, or perhaps intent would have it, Vex found herself ducking and sliding under the bed beside her superior.

* * *

"Wow that looks so beautiful," Amaris marvelled as she stopped to look up at the palace with more awe than Thrynn had managed.

"Yes," Cynric remarked nervously, "let's just get into it already." He gave her a shove towards it earning a cry of protest in response.

"Let me look!" Amaris cried out in annoyance as she continued to crane her neck up. "Come on, his royal theftness can't really have a problem with me looking."

"Oh but he can," Cynric answered quickly.

Marcurio snickered as he stood patiently with his arms folded, waiting to continue on. His brown gaze was on the palace too, though he had seen it before he was still impressed. It was a magnificent work of stone, four floors tall, with towers, pointed ceilings and turrets and a dome, all topped with a rich, vibrant, sapphire blue from which the palace gained its namesake. Its front walls were coated with tamed ivy that somehow added beauty to the building rather than marred it, in the centre was an arched entrance cut out of the stone, the flat top of it acting as a path for guards to walk across and a balcony for the curious nobles to survey the world from. Through the arch was the main courtyard of the palace, the palace itself was built around this square courtyard, the dome at the very back with a stone columned two storied layer protruding out. The walls of the palace were part of the walls of Solitude, as the palace itself was seated on the edge of the city, resting comfortably on the end of the arch the city was built upon with a view of the glacial river and the wilderness of Haafingar beyond and below the walls.

"Alright it's awesome," Cynric said impatiently, "let's move on."

Amaris sighed as the Breton began to push her again, urging her under the arch and into the courtyard. She recalled seeing it before; it was of course a blur in her memory, one brief trip with Hadvar she supposed, somehow knowing that she had never been within the grand building.

They entered the palace between a group of finely dressed Bretons and a trio of women who murmured about Cynric, quietly they thought, though it was loud enough for the thief to turn and flash them a smile, sending them into flushed giggles. Marcurio gritted his teeth in irritation at this as he wondered privately what women saw in the thief and why they weren't so swift to vie for his attention.

The first room they entered was an ostentatious waiting room. The walls were smoothed stone, patterned with strips of blue-black, a block on the columns, spaced out rows of thin lines with a pattern of slanted grooves on them, and a single line of looping chain like engravings that ran just below the windows. The floor was made of shining cream tiles that were patterned as four rectangles linked together to form a square with a tiny, light blue square between, and a cross of navy black to match the strips on the walls and divide the tiles, each cross with a tile of grey at its centre. The room itself was well kept and guarded, with benches, chairs and tables to relax on complete with refreshments on the tables and hanging moss and potted plants to keep the room looking pleasant and give a hint of life to it and a gentle contrast to the armoured soldiers.

Amaris shrank behind Cynric instinctively as she eyed one of the occupants; he was seated on a bench in dark robes, a pointed chin and nose sticking out from his cowl. His sharp, golden skinned face gave him away as an Altmer immediately.

Cynric glanced back at Amaris with a reassuring gaze and nodded to the main doors suggestively, earning a frown and a headshake in answer. The thief sighed and instead turned his attention to the other occupants of the room. It was Marcurio who spotted the nimble Nord servant and made his way over to her. She was young looking, mid-twenties, with fair skin, a short, ebony bob, barely passed her ears and brushed in a side parting, a simple face and a plain, dark brown dress laced at the chest with an ivory shirt beneath it. "Excuse me," the mage addressed her politely, "but could you help me please?"

The young maid looked to Marcurio with a bright, brown eyed gaze and smiled. "And who are you handsome mage?" she queried jestingly. "Are you my gallant hero? Have you come to whisk me away, to a life of adventure and romance?"

"Uh..." Marcurio felt his cheeks burn scarlet as he flustered and stammered. "Um...that is..."

Cynric immediately seized his chance to push the mage out of the way and lean close to the maid with a wink. "You'll have to excuse my friend he's a bit touched in the head. Look, clearly you're a woman of interest here, and the right woman to talk to for information. I know you're busy but please, could you spare a moment? I'd be very grateful if you could." He paused to give her a small, hopeful smile that had hers widening as her cheeks turned a pale rosy pink.

Amaris seized Marcurio by his sleeves before he could charge back into Cynric. Though she disliked the thief's methods Amaris could see he was having success and she did not want the wizard ruining it. "Calm down," she urged her companion quietly, "he's getting information for us."

"She was talking to me," Marcurio spat out angrily as he continued to glower at the back of the thief's head and fought Amaris for his sleeves.

"Of course I could," the maid answered eagerly, "what would you like to know?"

"Could you help me find the Pelagius Wing?"

The girl looked startled for a moment and started shaking her head. "Oh, I'd get in trouble for that. It's not allowed. Besides, it's scary in there!"

Cynric laughed gently and grasped her left hand, running one finger over the back of her palm. "Well if you could point me in the right direction that would be alright, I wouldn't see you frightened. I wouldn't want you in trouble either, would it help if I swore no one would have to know you told me? I would be in your debt too," he added seductively with a sly smile.

"Well..." The pink glow turned to crimson as the maid let out a nervous laugh. "If you really want to... Just be careful of the ghost! He snuck up on me once and scared me sick. It took a week for me to feel better..."

Cynric nodded sympathetically as he held back a taunting laugh and rubbed her hand once more. "I will be careful, I swear it," he said solemnly.

"Ghost?" Marcurio echoed as he looked to Amaris questioningly and muttered, "this is definitely a bad idea."

"I didn't know ghosts bothered you," the redhead commented as she wondered if they might bother her. 'I suppose one doesn't know until they meet one,' she thought dismissively.

"They don't bother me," the wizard grumbled, "they bother everyone, that's what they do. People get bored and inventive when they're dead."

"Well here's the key, the wing is to the right and up the stairs," the maid said quietly as she glanced about briefly before pressing an ornate brass key into the thief's waiting hand. "My name's Erdi by the way," she added assertively.

"Marcurio," the thief answered with a cheeky smirk, "my friends call me Marcurio the Mad."

"Oh...okay." The maid looked uncomfortable for a moment, jumping slightly as the real Marcurio starting spitting out a mouthful of swears.

"Thanks for your help Erdi," the thief said happily before he turned from her, seized Marcurio's right arm and pulled him on, with Amaris linked to the mage's left arm.

"You absolute asshole!" the mage sputtered as they headed to the far right of the room where a set of stairs was built into the wall, almost unnoticed. "Why did you have to give my name?"

"I thought you wanted her to know your name!" Cynric retorted in feigned shock. "I just thought you had trouble saying it to her, that's all." He shook his head scornfully.

"I'm not mad!" Marcurio shrieked.

"Yes because sane people yell and curse loudly in a palace before the guards," Cynric commented sardonically. "Besides, women like men with a title."

"Do we?" Amaris queried curiously as she leaned across Marcurio to give the thief a sceptical look.

"Clearly it's something you've forgotten," the thief answered teasingly.

"Uh huh," the woman replied dryly, sounding unconvinced.

"I bet if Mercer had introduced himself as the Gray Fox you would have let him keep the chains on," the thief dared to joke.

"By Oblivion that is sick!" Marcurio cried out in disgust as they headed up the stairs. "Seriously, you're disgusting, she's only twenty-five, he's ancient, and she was a prisoner, you should be ashamed mocking her like that," he continued to scold as he glowered at the thief with a furious expression.

The thief shrank back from the mage and released his arm, wondering if he had actually gone too far with his joking. 'Hmm just like Thrynn and my comment about wildlife,' the thief thought mournfully, 'no one likes my humour.'

"Who's the Gray Fox?" Amaris queried, choosing to ignore Cynric's dirty jibe.

Cynric slotted the key into a stiff door that had seen better days and a rusted lock that had not been used in a while. "He was a thief in Cyrodiil," Cynric explained, "he lived a long time ago for a long time, ask Mercer about him sometime, he's a big admirer and he knows more than me."

The lock clicked free at last and Cynric pushed the door open with some effort granting them entry to the Pelagius Wing.

* * *

It was Elisif herself who had entered the room along with two maids and a guard; she had taken twenty minutes to select fresh garments for herself while one of the maids prepared a bath for her. Now the Jarl was in the bath in the bathroom with a maid but the other maid and the guard, female of course, remained in the room.

Mercer knew that he could escape with ease, make himself invisible with just a simple gesture and sneak out, but he doubted that Vex and Thrynn could get so easily, especially Thrynn in fact. The Nord was at the back of a mercifully deep wardrobe and Mercer did not doubt that his large hands could not open the door quietly enough. The master thief thought several curses to Nocturnal and whoever else might be listening and gritted his teeth as he continued to wait impatiently.

Vex knew how embarrassing their situation was but part of her couldn't help but embrace a rare moment of closeness with her superior. It mattered a little that they couldn't exactly chat, but even having a moment of silence with him was still something. The thief was normally far too busy to spend any quality time with his thieves, some called it ignorance, even outright rudeness but Vex and Brynjolf knew it was stress. Mercer was their leader and a long time member of the Guild, he had been best friends with its previous leader Gallus, even chased off his murderer and cared so deeply about the crime that he still remained bitter about the murderer, Karliah's escape to this day. Vex privately thought it wasn't just her crime that made Mercer loathe the lost dark elf so deeply, the Imperial was almost certain in fact that there had been something else to it but she could not know for sure and prying Brynjolf for information had not confirmed much.

The pale haired woman knew Mercer wasn't quite over the pain and she had been patient about it, knowledgeable of the fact that it hadn't stopped him from bedding women, but she had not wanted to be another one of the Guild Master's used and forgotten women, she had hoped to be something more. An equal in Mercer Frey's eyes in more way than one, a desire that seemed impossible to the point of Vex giving up and taking other lovers including Mercer's personal house guard Vald, and Cynric, a Breton just like the master thief. So it had been seeking replacements in an attempt to fill a hole, well no one was perfect but it had been alright so long as she saw that Mercer showed no interest in anyone else, not even the beautiful and deadly Sapphire, more than a match for him in attitude and toughness, or bright eyed Tonilia who welcomed the thrill of betraying Vekel, or the many maidens of Riften. There was one exception to that, a regular partner who Vex had not bothered to attempt competing with, certain that egos and a desire for dominance would end that poisonous relationship, and sure enough it had.

Now though, now Vex thought that there might be another and it made her clench her fists in frustration. The random women whose names he could never recall she understood, Maven Black-Briar she understood but this chit of a thing, a dopey eyed, bony brat with no personality and only dumb innocence in her head, this Vex did not understand. 'Well I'm here now,' she told herself, 'I just have to persuade him to ditch her and come back to Riften. Dealing with something the Thalmor want, that's too risky and if he's not prepared to trade her to them then what's the point? Who else will give him something for her? She's not rich, if she was he would have mentioned it, no high blood then, no surprises, so then what? What in Nocturnal is the appeal? Does he think there's something other mystery to her that will result in some untold of treasure? Nonsense, a novel dream at best and since when does Mercer Frey chase those?'

* * *

"This doesn't look haunted at all," Marcurio commented sardonically.

The room was filthy, long cobwebs dangled from every rafter, heavy with dust, the furniture lay in disarray, chairs upside down and on their sides on tables and the floor, and cups and plates lay in forgotten shattered pieces along with dented mugs and rusting cutlery. There was a fireplace against one wall, now sealed up with stone, and candles melting in deformed puddles of wax in iron holders. Empty wine bottles littered the floor beside smashed in crates and a boarded up door.

The only direction the trio could take was up a set of broken, rickety, wooden steps that sat against the back wall. "Why did we need a hip bone for this?" Amaris wondered aloud as she took the lead, heading for the steps. The room was dirty and unnerving but curiosity won out, although Marcurio and Cynric were both less sure that following their inquisitiveness was the right idea.

"This was absolutely worth taking a bone off a madman and risking Mercer's wrath," Cynric commented sarcastically, "most definitely, I mean I have never seen long cobwebs before, something else to take off my list."

"You are such an idiot," Marcurio grumbled as he followed Amaris up the steps, taking care to watch for gaps in the wood.

The steps creaked loudly, making the three all the warier of what was ahead, scuttling indicated a spider on a nearby wall and a squeak hinted at an unseen rat or skeever scurrying about. Amaris tensed slightly at the sounds and remembered Mercer's scornful command that she could not spend her time jumping at every little thing.

The next room was even more ghastly than the first; it was a forgotten bar with upturned chairs and barstools, some missing legs, and dusty stags' and goats' heads on the walls with cobwebs growing between their antlers, all adding to the creepy atmosphere. A rug lay rotting on the stone floor, its original colours long gone, and an open fireplace sat wasting in one wall, a collection of cobwebs acting as a fireguard.

"So unless the madman's master is a ghost or fictional, I don't think he's here," Cynric said confidently, "so might I advise leaving?"

"Not yet," Amaris said firmly as she looked up at a faded painting of a man curiously. He had pointed ears and dark eyes, but that was all she could make out. She turned round a corner to a hall thick with dust and led the way on.

When the hall suddenly turned misty the three realised too late that they had made a mistake.

For a moment they were shocked into silence, everything had changed- their environment, their clothes, even the grim atmosphere had given way to something new and stranger. Amaris blinked several times in disbelief, whilst Marcurio wondered if he was suddenly dreaming or, more plausible, caught in a spell and Cynric, unwittingly closest to the answer, pondered the possibility that he had gone mad.

"Are you seeing this?" the thief queried seriously. "Tell me now, because if you are it means I'm still sane but we're probably in trouble."

"Is that a tea party?" Amaris questioned slowly as she stared ahead.

They were in a forest with patches of wild grass, spread out black barked trees with long, jagged branches, bare of leaves and flowers that grew upwards, an ancient stone arch made from two tall, stone slabs with a third placed across them, marking the start of a dirt path and most ridiculous of all, a long table with ten chairs, a varied, large selection of food and only two occupants.

"More tea, Pelly my dear?" one queried in a thick, wild accent that the three could not place. He looked almost human, bearded with silvery hair and a colourful costume with a jacket half purple and half crimson orange, the trousers purple with veins of lilac, a silver cravat poking through the jacket and not one but three black belts holding the ensemble together and keeping a dagger in place.

"Oh, I couldn't. Goes right through me. Besides, I have so many things to do... So many undesirables to contend with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my headsman hasn't slept in three days!" This agitated and despairing retort came from the second, a male with a glossy, rich brown jacket and pale blonde hair tied in a long ponytail was all they could gather about him as he had his back to them.

"I don't think we're in the palace anymore," Cynric muttered quietly as he watched the table warily.

"I don't think we're in Skyrim," Marcurio commented doubtfully. He looked to the thief and queried in surprise, "what in Oblivion are you wearing?"

The thief's familiar hooded garb was gone, replaced instead with a rich jacket of dark green with matching trousers, a dark purple shirt, a silk cravat of indigo, a belt of leather the same colour as the shirt and most strange of all a tall hat of indigo with a small brim around it and a dark purple ribbon fastened about its middle. "Me?" he exclaimed as he looked back at the thief. "Who dressed you? A blind idiot?"

The mage's robes were gone too, replaced with an outfit of white, pale greys and silver. Expensive looking, it included a collar of a snow rabbit's fresh, velvet coat, a silver watch dangling from a matching chain at his chest, a waistcoat of pale grey and a shirt and trousers of dove white. "All my stuff is gone!" Marcurio wailed as he searched his trousers' pockets in vain.

"Mine too," Cynric complained.

"It wasn't your stuff in the first place," Marcurio snapped back angrily, "mine actually did belong to me."

Amaris sighed as she smoothed out her own dress, unlike the men she did not object to her clothes, only lamented that her flattering bride's dress was now gone. Her dress was of a flattering sky blue that almost matched her left eye; it was low at the bust, tight at the waist and spilled down in becoming pleats to her ankles. There was a trim of red hearts at the bust and red roses at the waist, both carved from glittering jewels. "Guys," she spoke up gently, "I think we've been noticed."

The pair at the table had gone silent and were looking pointedly at the three, if one could call what the bearded male was doing looking; there was something off about his eyes.

"Guys," Amaris spoke up again, louder this time as the pair continued to wail and bicker.

The pair felt silent at last, sensing the penetrating stares upon them. Surprisingly though they were not called over or questioned, instead the two at the table resumed their conversation as if Amaris and the others were not there.

"You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius," the bearded male continued jovially. "What would the people do without you? Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old? You are the best Septim that's ever ruled. Well, except for that Martin fellow, but he turned into a dragon god, and that's hardly sporting... You know, I was there for that whole sordid affair. Marvelous time! Butterflies, blood, a Fox, a severed head... Oh, and the cheese! To die for."

"Homicidally insane?" Marcurio choked out as he looked at the second male worriedly.

"I want to try that cheese," Cynric spoke up with a small grin, "it must be good if it's to die for."

Amaris gave him a look that plainly stated, 'are you serious' before turning her stare back on the tea party.

"Yes, yes, as you've said, countless times before..." the man grumbled wearily.

"Hafrumph!" the bearded man cried out in irritation as he sprang up from his seat. "Well then, if you're going to be like that... Perhaps it's best I take my leave. A good day to you sir. I said good day!"

"Yes, yes, go. Leave me to my ceaseless responsibilities and burdens..." The other man grumbled.

Despite what was said, to Amaris and the men's surprise it was in fact the seated man who vanished from the table.

"I wonder where he went," Cynric pondered curiously.

"Or who he was?" Marcurio mumbled, uneasy by the stare and wide smile the remaining man was giving them.

"Come over then," the man urged them with a wave, "no point in wasting the cheese! Who are you then? Tourists? Fans? Oh I'm flattered, I don't do autographs though, most tricky having to get some blood for it and the fans aren't so gracious then."

"Right..." Marcurio remarked nervously, looking at Amaris in wide eyed shock as she dared to step towards the table.

"Who was your friend?" the redhead asked curiously.

"Emperor Pelagius III," came the merry answer. "Now surely even you know about Pelagius' decree? On his deathbed - oh, and this was inspired - he forbade... death! That's right! Death! Outlawed!"

Only Cynric laughed at this and dared to quip, "and how did Arkay like that?"

"Ah who knows? Those Aedra never bother with mortals much, it's beneath them, they're a boring lot, need more flaming dogs in their existence and cheese."

"Emperor Pelagius III," Marcurio repeated, certain that he knew the name, "wait..." He looked to the bearded man in horror. "Pelagius the Mad?"

The man looked offended as he frowned back at Marcurio before immediately smiling again and nodding proudly. "Yes but Pelly doesn't like that nickname much."

"And I thought men loved titles," Amaris commented wistfully with a sly look thrown in Cynric's direction.

The thief grinned sheepishly back before he turned to Marcurio who seemed frozen in place. "Looks like that title is taken, we'll have to come up with a new one, how about Marcurio Lover of Sheep?"

The man at the table burst into laughter at this whilst Marcurio frowned uneasily, too cautious to even rise to the jibe. Cynric frowned at him, realising that they must be in trouble for the mage to resist yelling insults at him.

"So where are we?" Amaris asked the obvious question.

"Ah you tourists, always trying to rough it without the guidebook, you are inside the mind of Pelagius, silly. Oh. Is it your... first time?" He grinned at her and added, "I like your eyes, but they don't match, I could fix that for you."

Amaris paused as she reached the table at last and gripped the back of a seat with both hands. "We're...inside a dead man's mind?" she questioned in disbelief.

He nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, are you ears the problem? You should stick trumpets in them; they might then be useful for something." He gestured down to the varied spread on the table with both hands. "Sit and eat," he suggested, though Amaris felt it might be a command.

She looked down at the table and saw plates and tea trays holding sweetrolls, cakes, honey nut treats, mammoth trunks, mudcrab pincers, lettuces, pies and of course, numerous wedges of different cheeses as well as bowls of creamed mammoth cheese. There was also a collection of different teapots and cups, mugs, pitchers and glasses. Though her stomach was growling and the sweetrolls looked tempting even if the trunks did not, Amaris was too wary to consider the feast. She looked back up at the man, struggling to meet his gaze and focusing on his chin instead. "Who are you?" she asked.

He let out a sharp, taunting laugh before answering. "You first now, don't be rude, who are you?"

"Amaris," she retorted swiftly.

"And why are you here?"

"Well...I don't think I meant to stumble into someone's mind exactly but I'm here for someone, a master of sorts."

"Who sent you? Wait! Don't tell me!" he cried out excitedly with a wave of his hands. "I want to guess! Was it Molag? No, no... Little Tim, the toymaker's son? The ghost of King Lysandus? Or was it... Yes! Stanley, that talking grapefruit from Passwall."

"Oh by the Eight Divines I want to meet a talking grapefruit," Cynric commented eagerly. He turned back to face Marcurio and demanded, "where is Passwall and how soon can we get there?"

"From some dead king's mind?" came the sardonic retort. "Oh about five days on foot if you take a detour through his nose!"

"I think we've made a mistake," Amaris commented carefully, cautious of offending the man. She knew that he could not possibly be human but who and what he was, was anyone's guess.

"Oh, no no no! No mistake at all. What you made was a choice. Granted, not a very wise choice, but these things happen," he said dismissively. He then looked past her to the men and waved them over. "Come here messengers, come and join the tea party!"

Cynric looked back to Marcurio, seized him firmly by the hand and dragged him forward to the table to stand beside Amaris. "Hi," the thief greeted brightly, "I'm Cynric and this is Marcurio."

"And do you know me?" the man queried happily.

"You're mad," Marcurio muttered unwisely.

"Jolly good guess! But only half right. I'm a mad god. The Mad God, actually. It's a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years. Now you. You can call me Ann Marie. But only if you're partial to being flayed alive and having an angry immortal skip rope with your entrails. If not... Then call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed."

All three of them tensed at his words, Marcurio filled with terror, Cynric with an uncertainty over whether to be frightened or not, and Amaris with curiosity and wonderment. "Well lord Sheogorath," she addressed him politely, "are you the master we seek then?"

He yawned and waved away her question with one hand. "Yes, yes, maybe and no, my holiday's not over yet, the luggage can wait. You're tainted with Princes you know, you stink of deer, did you know that?" He looked at Amaris disapprovingly. "Perhaps not, maybe you can't smell either, do none of your senses work? Ah..." He grinned. "Not the mind anyway, that I can tell, sure as wolves love girls in red."

"Look um..." Marcurio hesitated to address a Daedric Prince, any Daedric Prince was a problem but this particular one, in his opinion, was a downright catastrophe. "We were just seeking someone's master for a madman, and now that I say mad...ah well it makes sense. Should've known to argue against helping a man with a hipbone."

"Should have...could have...I say sit and let's have tea, cheese for everyone!" He sat at the table and the three, after exchanging a quick look, sat down obediently. "Do you know I think someone mentioned you," Sheogorath commented to Amaris as he began pouring tea into a bowl. "Yes, a girl with mismatched eyes, I thought he was lying so I took his tongue for a while but it was slimy and it didn't poison that wretched Barbarus like I wanted so I gave it back. Ugly things tongues, bit like warts on a bear, no one likes that, especially not the bear." He paused to cut a lettuce leaf into tiny chunks, which he added to the bowl of tea. "Now what was his name? Was it Stanley? No, no, how silly, grapefruit don't know women with unequal eyes. Did you know your eyes are different? Were you bullied over it?"

"I know they're different," Amaris said softly.

"I really want to meet Stanley," Cynric remarked as he pulled a sweetroll and a slice of pie onto his plate.

"Are you really going to eat?" Marcurio questioned disapprovingly as he looked down at the plate.

Cynric nodded happily. "Why shouldn't I? May as well catch a bite while I'm stuck in a dead guy's mind."

"Yes, that's the obvious solution," Marcurio sneered with a roll of his eyes, "now why didn't I think of it?"

"Ah yes," Sheogorath said triumphantly as he snapped his fingers together, "it was Casper the singing rabbit of Bravil!" He shook his head and grumbled, "no, no wait...I was close! Kester! Yes, Kester the Night Mother's bastard!" He threw back his head in laughter as Amaris paled.

* * *

_What to say? Sorry this chapter was so long, I really just could not stop typing it and now I need sleep! Hurray for Sheogorath, for his introduction I've used most of the game's dialogue because it's awesome but I hope I've done him justice with some original dialogue, of which there will now be more. I also hope people like the Vex and Mercer aspect, I don't why I thought she should like him maybe I just wanted an explanation for someone so cool going with an oaf like Vald lol. Actually I just thought it would be a good element to the story and their characters. Also, yes Cynric did make a wildly inappropriate S&M joke, Marcurio and Amaris certainly put up with a lot of crap from him :-)_

_As always please read and review, your comments keep this fanfic going and improving, they really are appreciated!_


	20. Chapter 20- Death's Lunatic

"Do you know I think a reunion would be in order," Sheogorath chirped merrily, "or would it?" He sighed and grumbled, "I hate indecision! ... or maybe I don't. Well, make up your mind. Or I'll have your skin made into a hat."

Marcurio flinched uncomfortably at the threat whilst Amaris continued to look back at the Daedric Prince in dumb surprise. "Kester is alive then?" she queried faintly as she reached out for a porcelain cup of tea. Suddenly tea seemed like a strangely good idea. The redhead only blinked once at the crumbs of bread floating in it before reaching pointedly for a spoonful of honey and finding it to be burnt ginger in orange juice instead.

"Who?" Sheogorath looked up from the handsome slice of cheese he had carved for himself and murmured hastily, "oh the knife stabber in the dark. We know, but what do they know? It's all a bit vague, a bit like seahorses in mist, who can see for sure what they really are? I'm bored of this, why don't I turn you all into goats? Or make you fall in love with trees?"

"Or not," Marcurio retorted hastily before shrinking back from the Daedric Prince's curious, pale eyed stare. It was impossible to tell the Daedra's emotions from his stare, or to even guess if the mad prince could see at all. The wizard was afraid that Sheogorath very much could see everything, including his own nervous gaze.

"Why not? You don't know if it's fun until you try," the prince pointed out with a mischievous grin. "Anyway this tea party is dull without Pelly, let's deaden it up with kestrel...no he doesn't have wings..." Sheogorath shrugged and snapped the fingers of his left hand carelessly in the air.

Cynric let out a small sound of surprise as a man materialised before him beside the Daedric Prince. He was clad in an outfit like the rest of them, similar to Cynric's only red and gold in colouring with two long brown ears growing out of either side of the hat. He sighed quietly, keeping his stare downwards at the table and queried stiffly, "lord Sheogorath?"

Sheogorath clapped his hands with delight and laughed. "Oh the ears look wonderful on you Kester my lad! Why didn't I give you them sooner? Would you like a trunk to match? And a bushy tail? Maybe a horn, oh no that would be ridiculous."

"I wouldn't mind a tail," Cynric commented quietly.

"Kester?" Amaris squeaked as she looked across to the man with an anxious eagerness. Was it him? It was too hard to tell with his hair hidden beneath the absurd hat, his face bowed and in the shadow of the hat's brim, and her memory so vague. 'How many years was it?' she wondered darkly. 'One year, that's what Hadvar said, was it all so recent?'

He looked up at her sharply and his blue eyes filled with a crazed hate. He sprang for her without warning and the blade was out and in her chest before she could react. It was Sheogorath yanking violently on Kester's jacket that saved the blade from going in deep, instead it cut an awkward bloody line up her chest and dress before Kester fell back into his seat clumsily.

"Kester be civilised," the mad prince scorned, "uncivilised day is tomorrow you fool."

The flash of pain immediately went numb; Amaris' wide, frightened eyes saw only Kester and his eyes, like two dirty ice chips, filled with loathing. Cynric let out several colourful curses as he leaned into Amaris to study her wound whilst Marcurio choked out a cry of alarm and anger, raising his hands, ready to cast a spell as he looked to the assassin warily.

"You need a healer," Cynric murmured as he eyed the rapidly increasing crimson stain with worry.

"It's only a flesh wound," Sheogorath commented dismissively, "and if she dies I can have her eyes." His own cloudy gaze flickered up to hers and his grin widened. "I could make a necklace out of them or a delightful bracelet."

"I'm sorry Kester," Amaris said calmly as tears burned in her eyes, "I'm so, so sorry you and Quintus were ever involved and if I could undo it...if it meant taking all that suffering upon myself and suffering it still then I would, I promise you I would." She was tense against her chair, her face taut with pain though she was only dimly aware of what had transpired, it seemed more important to focus on Kester rather than the wound he had dealt her.

The assassin slammed his bloody knife down hard upon the table, releasing it, and clutched his head with both hands and screamed. It was loud enough for Marcurio to jump and Cynric to tense, pausing in tending Amaris' wound momentarily. The thief was trying to press down on it with his hands but was only turning his palms bloody.

"We came here because of a Dunmer," Marcurio spoke up quickly, "a madman on the streets of Solitude looking his master, whether you are him or not I do not know but that's why we are here so please, can we go?" He looked at the frowning Daedric Prince, not daring to show any desperation in his demeanour though he certainly felt it.

"You ruined the fun Kester," Sheogorath grumbled, "first Pelly left in a huff, then I found out it was the wrong cheese on the table and now this mess, honestly I should turn your ears to wings and your hands to butter, be a bit harder for you to get stabby then. Sometimes I wonder why I collected you," he continued to complain as the assassin's scream softened to a more bearable wail. "You seduced me with your insanity, a nasty trick when I could never have that delicious soul, you would make a grand duke of Dementia."

Kester dropped his hands onto the table, causing a cup near him to clatter as he suddenly turned his frosty stare upon the Daedric Prince. "I can go now yes, yes..." he said confidently, almost belligerently. "The nightmare is she...well it's Vaermina..." He paused and shook his head quickly in an aggressive gesture. "But the agreement still stands; I leave you when the nightmare comes in the flesh." He gestured out at Amaris with an accusing bony finger. "Well she is my nightmare, she and all she represents and brings back and pulls up from the rot of my mind."

Sheogorath scowled moodily, turning from the assassin to Amaris. He too pointed at her accusingly and shouted, "TRICK!" For a moment he seemed to blaze with rage, rising up from the table to tower over her and Cynric, who leaned over her protectively, but then a smile broke out across his face and he began to laugh. "Ah not your trick, no you're too confused for that, no one's trick or was it my own? Ah I'm sneaky to myself sometimes. Well my vacation is still ongoing and I don't want it ruined with anymore blood on my cheese, you've stained it enough thank you." He gave Amaris a curt nod and then turned to Kester. "Go then, all of you, someone else can remind me about the luggage, and I suppose I shall have some peace, or fun. Yes, more barking at all hours, and chewing up my slippers. You used the hemlock, then? Damned good idea! I... Um... We're not talking about Barbas, are we? Clavicus Vile's... dog? Oohh... awkward." He chuckled uncomfortably before grinning at the paling Amaris. "You'll know about that damned dog won't you? A little hemlock sprinkled over a bone, just to give it some flavour."

Amaris looked at him blankly, afraid to give him any sort of answer.

"Ah don't play coy oh but wait you're not." He turned back to Kester and shook a scolding finger at him. "Bad Kes she has trouble with memories, you had her at a disadvantage! For a man who made a career of sneaking around in the shadows backstabbing people without warning I expected more integrity! I am disgusted, devastated and inspired by you! And by sheep, there's just something about them, they're like clouds with legs!"

Kester looked at Amaris with a curiosity laced with suspicion. A frown plucked at his thin, greyed lips and he clenched his hands together as he tried to subdue a tremor in his arms.

"Well go already!" Sheogorath snapped. "I have cheese pudding and I don't wish to share although I have been known to change my mind...mainly on Thursdays, about matters involving cows."

As the mad prince rambled on the tea party faded from view and the group found themselves returned to the dusty Pelagius Wing, now back in their original clothes. Amaris' formerly white wedding dress was stained in liquid carmine with a clumsy slash down her chest. She stumbled back into a wooden wall, clenched her fists and let out a short gasp of pain. It stung now, like her flesh was splashed with boiling hot water, and she felt dizzy from blood loss.

Cynric gripped her right arm and urged her to the stairs. "A healer, now," he said firmly.

"The cut was shallow."

A small fireball appeared on Marcurio's right hand instantly as the thief stiffened and Amaris tore from his grasp to turn round at the coldly spoken words. "Kester!" she exclaimed.

He was back in the clothes she remembered him in, the uniform of the Dark Brotherhood- midnight black and blood red armour. He glanced down at himself with displeasure and remarked cynically, "I thought I got rid of this. Such a sense of humour he has when it suits him."

"You stay back," Marcurio snarled as he raised the fireball.

The assassin ignored him, looking to Amaris instead with a reproachful gaze. His skin was as pale as snow, his hair a pale honey blonde, once neatly kept silk it was now a straggly mess with streaks of silvery grey to match the flecks of silver in his golden brown stubble. His worn features were scarred and thin; his lips grey with only a tinge of the palest pink to them and his eyes were sunken in his skull. "One year, one year of darkness and torture, of blood and death and screams, and then another year of nightmares and madness. I should not have raised my dagger to you but when I see you I see them and his broken body, I warned you it would be so."

"I don't remember," Amaris said as her eyes sparkled with fresh tears. Seeing his stare turn venomous she added hastily, "Clavicus Vile took my memories, all of them, they come to me in fragments and nightmares but nothing is ever complete or certain. It was only recently that I learned my old name and that it was my brother who sent you to your horrible fate, an ill-sighted venture he paid for out of love and desperation. He could never have known what would happen."

"No," Kester said icily, "though for a time I admit I saw his face too and cursed it but he did warn me, he warned us both and he warned us well but I did not heed it."

"Let's talk about this later," Cyrnic spoke up hastily as he took hold of Amaris once more and urged her down the stairs, "you're still bleeding."

"He is not coming with us," Marcurio said firmly as he continued to glower at the assassin, "not after what he did. A mad murderer with violent tendencies is the last thing we need."

"I know," Cynric chirped up as he continued to hurry on, "Mercer has already filled that role nicely but you're not going to set him on fire and if he wants to stab you he will, so just come on."

"And let him walk behind me?" Marcurio shrieked, not daring to tear his gaze from the assassin to spy Cynric and Amaris' retreating backs.

"I could go in front," Kester suggested calmly.

"And behind Amaris so you can stab her from behind as well as in front?" Marcurio sneered sardonically.

"Well beside you then mage, let's go," he answered coldly.

Marcurio frowned and swallowed down a reply, reminding himself that Amaris was bleeding from a stab wound and that she and Cynric were uncomfortably ahead of him now. He nodded, turned and began to walk briskly down the stairs. Kester matched his pace easily only his footsteps were too soft to be heard compared to Marcurio's nervous thumps. The man moved like a shadow, clinging to the darkness, drifting down quietly, avoiding the gaps and fragile chunks of rotting wood.

Marcurio was not so lucky, stepping through a piece of rotted wood and yelping as he fell. When Kester grabbed the mage swiftly with both hands and yanked him up the Imperial screamed louder.

"You sound like you're being murdered!" Cynric called up jovially. "Are you?"

"Not yet," the wizard snarled back as he shrugged off the assassin's grasp and dusted his robes with a scowl.

They finally reached the exit to the Pelagius Wing; there Cynric halted, and gave Amaris a serious look before his blue gaze flickered back to the arriving mage and assassin. "We need to get out of here as subtly as possible or we all might end up in jail, Amaris is bleeding and Kester and I are both stained in her blood, it doesn't look great so let's just get moving and a find a healer in town who can be bribed."

The thief grinned and opened the door without waiting for a response. Amaris sucked in a breath, wincing as she did and tugged her cloak in with one hand in an attempt to hide the wound that she clutched with her other hand. It was a shallow cut thankfully, long enough certainly and deep enough to bloom blood and burn but it would not kill her, the blood flow was slowing though it was hard to tell and nothing major had been cut. Amaris herself did not worry much for it; concern and despair for Kester took priority. She tried to remember more about him, thinking hard desperately but so little came back to her.

They found themselves returning to the busy reception room of the Blue Palace, the guards were close to the door but their attention was occupied by a small group of Dunmer who had just entered.

"It's as pretty and deceptive as sin," Kester murmured as he looked around uneasily. "No one needs shadows for secrets, darkness for lies..." He halted as he spied the Altmer mage and for a moment was completely still and silent. Then he suddenly pointed at him accusingly and cried out loudly, "they always hide in cowls, laughing, torturing fiends!"

"Oh by Nocturnal this isn't good," Cynric muttered as he glanced back at the assassin.

Amaris wanted to go to his aid but fearing another stab wound she resisted and instead looked at him helplessly as Marcurio tried to push his hand down and gave the scowling mage an apologetic smile.

"Oh they thought it was funny to hear the squeals, entertaining to watch their bent cousins hurt and kill, yes weren't they amused by it all, sick pointy eared monster!" Kester yelled.

The Altmer stood up rapidly and queried stridently in a snarl, "is that blood?"

Marcurio, Cynric and Amaris all stiffened at the question, it had been said loud enough to be audible over Kester's shouts, and everyone was already looking their way. Marcurio looked at the mage almost in embarrassment, and Cynric's cautious blue gaze went to the guards whilst Amaris kept a worried stare on Kester.

"Amaris?"

The redhead turned nervously at the query, wary of who had identified her amongst the chaos. Her eyes widened in surprise as Cynric grumbled a curse. Amaund Motierre stood gawking at them with a stunned expression flanked by a disgusted male Imperial and a haughty, horrified looking Imperial lady. Rexus lingered close behind, not a part of the small group and yet not a stranger to them either. Amaund looked briefly at his companions before taking a step from them towards Amaris. Spying the red splashes on Cynric's hands and speckles on what he could see of the redhead's white dress, he quickened his pace, gazing at her questioningly as he reached her. "Are you hurt?" he demanded. The harsh worry in his voice startled them both and Amaund mentally cursed himself for expressing it.

Amaris could not meet his warm gaze, she had no idea what to say and found herself foolishly distracted by the sudden dryness in her mouth and fresh pain in her chest that added to the sting there. She turned from the Breton upon hearing the heavy footsteps of the Nord guards who had finally decided to subdue Kester. "Leave him!" she cried out, as much afraid for their safety as she was for his. She stepped towards him then, breaking from Cynric and letting her hand slip from her cloak to reveal the crimson wound.

"What on Oblivion happened?" Amaund cried out in alarm. "You need a healer!"

"Mercer is going to skin me alive," Cynric muttered as he turned after Amaris.

"Leave him be!" Amaris cried out indignantly as the guards tried to encircle Kester who had now gone silent, though he continued to glower at the Altmer mage.

Amaund's eyes flickered from one person to another; Marcurio had given up on trying to calm Kester whilst Cynric was attempting to usher Amaris in another direction. "Enough," the Breton spoke up boldly as he stepped forward again, this time towards the guards. He knew as well as Amaris and her friends that with their companion yelling and the blood upon them they would all be for the jail cells in a matter of minutes. "There's been an accident here," he said in a serious voice, "this woman is hurt and in need of a healer. I am certain they are simply trying to find one." He swallowed hard, suddenly nervous as he glimpsed Amaris' mismatched eyes upon him. He turned his stare upon the angry eyed Altmer mage and forced a commanding, yet polite expression to his face. "Melaran, I know your healing skills are impressive, could you please assist?"

The Altmer frowned and folded his arms, making it clear that he was considering a refusal. Amaris' eyes looked his way and she visibly shuddered, his outfit was not the same and yet he was so similar with his stern and pointed features, arrogant golden eyes and fair complexion.

"Please," Amaund said, despite the word it was clear he would not accept a refusal.

The Altmer sighed and retorted, "very well Chancellor Motierre if it is your bidding, though healing riffraff is below my station."

Amaund flinched at the title, ordinarily it was a point of pride for him to be ranked so highly and known for it but in Skyrim he was trying to downplay his fame and power, and strangely he had not wanted Amaris to know his title. 'She travels with law breaking commoners,' he thought to himself pragmatically, 'and is likely a lowborn herself, she probably wouldn't even think we could talk anymore...It wouldn't be proper, it never was proper. Getting involved with anyone here is an unnecessary distraction but she, she was nice to me without motive or intent.'

Cynric considered a biting retort to the mage but had the sense to withhold it, knowing that the mage might refuse to heal Amaris otherwise. He took a consoling grip of Amaris' right hand that suddenly became a desperate one as he spied Mercer's scowling face just out of the corner of his eye. "I hope he flays me quick," he remarked quietly.

The mage, Melaran, gestured to the bench sharply with one hand and gave Amaris a weary look of displeasure. "If you would," he addressed her arrogantly, "sit and be healed then."

Amaris tried to pull from Cynric's grasp but it was too tight, prompting her to nudge him until he tore his stare from Mercer and escorted her to the bench, afraid that if he released her to an Altmer of all things Mercer might just eliminate him there and then regardless of guards. He continued to clutch at her hand as she sat down, tightening his grasp once more when she swayed slightly and banged her head off the wall lightly. The feeling of pain and faintness overtook Amaris without warning; she had neglected the wound for long enough and now it would not be ignored.

Melaran hovered over her, purposely putting her in his grim shadow. "A minor healing spell should suffice," he said curtly as if Amaris was not worthy of better.

Marcurio and Cynric both frowned at the mage whilst Kester forked his tongue out at the guards and Amaund tried to feign a polite interest in Amaris' welfare rather than show the deep concern he really felt. 'Why is she wounded?' he wondered. 'Why is her friend covered in blood and who in Oblivion is that nut who is also soaked in blood?' He looked cautiously in Kester's direction; the man was obviously unhinged and now growling like a feral dog at a guard who had unwisely taken a step towards him. 'Is she a prisoner of the men or a friend? It didn't make sense in Whiterun and it doesn't now. She seems happy with them but there's something about her that's unsettled and frightened at the same time.'

The mage pointed at her and a faint, golden tinged white light stretched out of his gloved palms to her wound. It tingled at first, and then burned causing her to sweat and grit her teeth as she held down a moan of pain. She could feel the blood flow finally ceasing and her skin began to stitch itself back together, it was an agonising process and yet the pain was different to that caused by the wound itself, not as raw or nauseating. When it finally ended she sagged slightly against the wall, relieved to feel its coolness pressed against her now her burning cheeks and brow. She was tired, exhausted even and her vision was slightly blurred.

"Is the spectacle over?" the female noble lady quipped sardonically. She was standing impatiently, a frown pulling at her rosebud lips as her beguiling golden-brown gaze went from the mage and Amaris to Amaund. She was a beautiful woman, imposing and enchanting despite her stern face, tall with an enviable curved figure enhanced by her wealthy robes. She had Imperial features and creamy brown skin like the bittersweet liquid chocolate used to make sweet rolls and long, thick hair that was a glossy sable with streaks of dark chestnut.

"I should think so," Amaund answered her calmly with a nod. "If it troubles you Lady Vittoria I can meet you upstairs, I shall not be offended if you go on."

Displeased, the woman eyes immediately flared with an anger that she turned from Amaund to Amaris. "Very well," she snapped icily before she started to walk on with her male companion close by her.

Rexus remained, his expression carefully blank though Amaund knew he felt distain. His guard had mentioned, as subtly as he could, about how Amaund's interest in Amaris was a distraction he could and should do without. 'He's right,' Amaund thought with a small, bitter smile as he watched Vittoria go. 'Here I am treating a potential wife with such ill-manners, ah but if I don't marry her other arrangements can be made,' he thought dismissively. 'As long as there is a wedding and it is in Skyrim that is all that is needed. Still, to be wed to the cousin of the Emperor is no small matter to be disregarded on an angry whim but she is as insufferable as she is striking, even for such connections I do not think it would be worth her disapproving tongue. The wedding is the important thing, myself as groom and cousin to the Emperor would only be a bonus, and an unnecessary one.'

The Breton's stare was on Amaris once more as Vittoria's somewhat distracting curves finally left his vision. She looked grey and yet she smiled, weakly albeit but it was still a smile. 'She wouldn't marry for politic games,' he thought to himself, 'she doesn't even have the kind of mind that would have her view people as pawns, no, she's too good natured for that. Is that what it is? Do I like her because she is good, incorruptible despite her companions, a rare spark of kindness in this cold world? Is it because I know, well...I hope she would talk with me just to talk with me, Amaund, not Amaund the Chancellor.' He felt a prickle of heat at his neck and knew that beneath his shirt collar it was glowing pink.

"Thank you," Amaris addressed the Altmer mage sincerely, though it was hard to look at him without another shudder.

The mage made a 'humph' sound in retort before turning and pointedly walking towards Amaund. "I trust there is nothing else," he stated to the Breton coldly, deliberately making it a statement rather than an inviting question.

Whilst Amaund was busy with the mage, Mercer finally went to Amaris and Cynric, looking at them with a barely subdued fury in his grey eyes. Vex and Thrynn hung back, the pale skinned Imperial folded her arms and smiled smugly with a cruel glimmer in her eyes as she waited for Cynric and Amaris to get scolded. 'Could they have made more of a scene?' she pondered sardonically.

"Outside," the Guild Master growled down at them quietly, "and go to the Winking Skeever, I will be behind you." He turned from them abruptly without waiting for a retort or protest and walked back to Vex, who had now concealed her smile, and Thrynn.

Cynric looked uneasy as he urged Amaris to her feet. The redhead glowered in Mercer's direction before snapping at Cynric, "he has no right to be mad! He did not order us to stay away and he couldn't have anyway, I am not his to command! And who could have predicted or prevented Sheogorath and..." She paused in her rant at last and looked Kester's way.

Marcurio stood beside the dirty fair assassin looking helpless and nervous, his brown gaze turned towards Amaris and Cynric with a pleading expression. "By Nocturnal," Cynric cursed before walking over to the pair hastily. Amaris followed in his wake, pausing briefly to glance Amaund's way. Catching the Breton's relieved stare made her step his way, though she feared he would ask questions she could not answer.

"We never seem to meet under normal circumstances," she addressed him quietly.

Amaund gave a small smile at this. "It would seem not," he retorted calmly as he turned from her to glance mistrustfully at Kester. "You have acquired another companion then," he commented lightly. The scraggly haired man was allowing himself to be ushered towards the door though he kept looking at Cynric with a deep suspicion.

Amaris followed his gaze and nodded. "Yes, for now," she answered as she wondered just how long Kester would be in her company for.

"And the Breton still shadows you," Amaund remarked disapprovingly as he spied Mercer Frey glowering his way.

Amaris followed his gaze once more and spotted Mercer's impatient and angry look, prompting her to frown back and earn a wrathful look from Vex as well. 'Why should he have a problem with Amaund?' she wondered in annoyance. 'Amaund has done us no ill and been only kind to me, his curiosity for me comes out compassion not greed like Mercer's.' She paused at her angry thoughts and scorned herself. 'Mercer has done for me what many would not, as have Cynric and Marcurio, and I have always known his motives, it is rude and childish for me to scorn them just because he has irritated me with his anger and because I wish...' She halted at that thought and turned from the thief back to Amaund as her cheeks turned a faint pink.

Mercer's frown deepened as he watched the redhead. 'Now she blushes at that prat,' he thought angrily. 'A chancellor too, hardly someone trustworthy and worse, as if she hasn't drawn enough attention to herself she will by talking to him, it's a wonder the Thalmor aren't upon her.'

"Thank you for helping me again Amaund," she said sincerely, "you did not have to."

"But I wanted to," the words were out there before Amaund could help it, so cheesy and yet he meant them. "Will you be in Solitude long?" he queried.

Amaris shook her head with a hint of sadness. "No."

Amaund nodded. "And you can't say where you are going," he guessed. "Well to fate or chance again then but one final question, those men you travel with, are you safe with them?" He gave her a serious look, wanting to ask her to leave them, to promise his own protection in return but he knew he could not make such an offer, he had important business to attend to and he allowed Amaris to distract him enough. 'She would only be in danger with me,' he thought bitterly, 'and a danger for me at that, my desires seem unimportant when I am with her.'

"The safest I can be," she answered truthfully with a reassuring smile.

Though the Breton was reluctant to accept that as the truth he nodded anyway, well aware of the penetrating stares upon them from a disapproving Rexus and Mercer and curious guards and nobles who were puzzled as to who the redhead woman was who had helped cause such a commotion and seemed to know a Chancellor of Tamriel quite well. "Goodbye again then," he said softly, "and I hope we meet again." Strangely he thought that they would though he could not say why that was so.

Amaris gave a small smile at this. "Me too," she retorted quietly. "Goodbye Amaund." She turned from the Breton at last to face an anxious Marcurio and eager to leave Cynric who were looking back at her with an obvious impatience as they attempted to restrain an even more eager to leave Kester. Amaris hastened to join them and together they exited out to a stormy afternoon.

The skies had turned clouded and dark, and the air damp and chilly, a faint mist hung about them and sharp drops of heavy rain struck down on them mercilessly. Taking advantage of the unexpected weather, Kester immediately broke free of the mage and thief and hurried forward. Marcurio could not help but be relieved to see the assassin run, only to fill with frustration when he saw Amaris pursuing him. 'Stabbed once, shame on the madman, stabbed twice, shame on Amaris,' he thought scornfully.

The assassin paused suddenly to clutch at his ears with both hands and shake his head wildly. "It's not right!" he cried out. "It's not right!" He fell to his knees violently and continued to shake as Amaris caught up to him.

The redhead paused for a moment, naturally wary of the man but when she made out his sobs over the rain pity overtook sense. She unknotted her worn cloak and bundled it about him, causing him to flinch warily. He dropped his hands and turned up to her sharply once more and his eyes filled with loathing before it became despair. "I loved you," he groaned, "and hated you, it was just us...three companions for a year, he loved and hated you too, all we had was each other, so maddening. You don't remember though and I wish I could forget."

"She can't help it," Cynric spoke up loudly in an attempt to be audible over the rain. He patted Amaris' right arm gently, urging her to stand upright and behind him. He looked at her with a commanding yet gentle, cerulean stare and said, "go with Marcurio to the Winking Skeever, I promise I will get Kester there. He's unstable with you and we don't need another incident but I think I can help. Plus, you're getting completely drenched and beginning to resemble a drowned skeever." He grinned mockingly before turning his attention back to Kester.

Amaris was still for a moment, thoroughly soaked and freezing though she did not care. She blinked, snapping herself out of her sudden trance, and turned to spy Marcurio in the rain. The mage was standing looking bedraggled, weighed down by his soggy robes. His brown eyes filled with relief when Amaris joined him and murmured, "Cynric says to go on."

"Silly girl," Vex scorned as she tugged her cowl close to her face, "she will drown or freeze." Ordinarily the thief did not wear cloaks or coats but seeing the grey clouds gathering through a window she had thought it a good idea to steal a fine hooded coat of green with gold trim from the chest of one of the Jarl's ladies-in-waiting.

Mercer gave no reply; his attention was on Cynric and Kester as he puzzled over who the blonde male was. He knew the black and red garb to be an assassin's and that the blood on him indicated he had played a part in Amaris' wound, but if he had been the one to wound her why was he still alive and why did she, Marcurio and Cynric so readily help him? Mercer thought hard and wondered if, against the odds, his suspicions could be right. 'If they are,' he thought in frustration, 'then someone is playing with us surely. Here we have another piece to her puzzle, it cannot be a coincidence though and what answers will he give I wonder? Probably less than the mage,' he thought with a scowl, 'he's a raving lunatic. Well it would be for the best for her, he can only have bad memories for her and I would rather not to listen to her scream through more nightmares.'

He continued walking on with Vex and Thrynn at a steady pace, determined to keep Amaris and Marcurio in sight but equally determined not to let Cynric and the assassin fall too far behind. He did not think Cynric was in any danger, or rather he did not think Cynric thought himself to be in danger, but there was no certainty and as irritating as the younger Breton could be he was still a valuable asset to Mercer.

"I know you," Kester remarked accusingly as he pointed up at Cynric with one finger, "yes, yes," he grew excited as he sat upright, resting his rear in a puddle, "the murdering jail breaker. Oh you were good, wonderful, such a talent for death!" He shook his head sorrowfully. "Such a waste, why did you stop again?"

Cynric frowned; the memories had been there, resting just on the surface since Kester's sudden appearance. Kester and Quintus had been the leaders of the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim when Cynric had made a name for himself as a killer and rescuer of imprisoned men and women. The thief had slain and saved only for profit, not caring whether his victims were innocent or guilty, but it had all ended in High Rock when a lock had proved too tricky and a guard had caught him trying to escape. He had been tortured and forced to serve out a three year sentence and after his release he had vowed not to do anymore jail breaking.

"Oh your last kill yes," Kester commented excitedly, "that was it, we heard all about it in Skyrim, just beautiful. Of course we'd kept an eye on you, you were talented...oh yes it's a muddle, so long ago but I found you, or Quintus did...I spoke with you though, didn't I?"

Cynric nodded slowly, he was beginning to regret stopping to help the assassin and wishing the rain would fall heavier and louder so he would not have to hear Kester's babbling.

Kester pushed himself to his feet at last, grasped Cynric's shoulders with two mud stained, gloved hands and leaned into him slightly to scrutinise his face. "Younger yes but we all were, happier too but not you, oh of course..." He paused for a moment and licked his lips nervously. "Your sister, rumour said you killed him because he was your guard, rumour amongst the death dealers yes, no one else knew, you were a shadow, a thief in the night," he paused to snicker inappropriately at this, "the guard, a captain, but it was not so, well it was but there was more... I remember, yes, yes."

The assassin became animated once more with excitement. "Your sister, she visited you, you told me, or us, hard to remember now if Quintus and I were ever separate, seems so wrong that we are so permanently now, it hurts you know, not just in the mind but the body too, it's not right... Yes, she visited you in jail and caught his eye, maybe he meant to be a gentleman, we will never know but he raped her, she fought back and he killed her, such a scandal, he tried to quieten it away and he did, yes yes... But he hated you, so he told you, thought you were just a poor jail breaker, didn't know the darkness you had. You killed him, oh it was beautiful but you liked it, that's what you said, you loved it too much to do it again so you turned us down."

Kester paused at last to bow his head and sigh mournfully. His grip was tight on Cynric's shoulders to the point of causing them pain but the thief did not seem to notice, he was frozen, caught up in a memory he had tried to crush for so long. Suddenly it seemed unfair that Amaris had been able to forget the worst of her life, at least for a short while. The thief had to remind himself that she had forgotten the best of it too and all against her will, it was probably not a sacrifice she or he would have made.

"What was her name again?" Kester suddenly pried as he looked up at the thief suspiciously. "Your sister, what did you call her?"

"Amaris," came the quiet reply. "It's who she's named after..." Cynric gave a bitter smile. "Faylinn that is, you knew her as that but I never did, she's always been Amaris to me."

"And yet here I stand the mad one of the pair of us," Kester sneered.

* * *

_As always many thanks for the reviews, alerts and favs! A special thanks to Guest or Guests as it may be, because I cannot reply to without an e-mail except on here. I am chuffed to here you re-read this fanfic :-) I try to work on a chapter most days but they take roughly two weeks to complete if that helps._


	21. Chapter 21- Rainstorm Fears

When Mercer arrived he was unimpressed to see Marcurio sitting alone in the inn, close by a window in the shadows of the crowded ground floor, creating an obvious puddle with his heavy, drenched robes. He hastened to the mage with Vex close in his wake whilst Thrynn chose to go the bar, certain that they weren't going anywhere else for a while.

"Where is she?" Mercer snapped.

Marcurio gestured at the window he was turned towards with a pale, damp finger. The glass was dirty but there was enough visibility despite the dark smudges and streaks of water for Mercer to make out the form of a woman seated outside in a small, cobblestoned area, down on her knees, her head and right arm resting on the edges of a forgotten, cracked fountain. If the rain had not been falling so heavily one might have speculated that she was resting but with such poor weather it was clear she was either grieving or had collapsed.

"I went after her," Marcurio remarked bluntly, "but she insisted on being alone." He looked at the Guild Master coldly and added, "to the point of drawing a dagger on me. I know, she wouldn't have dared but if she wants privacy that badly I'm not going to interfere."

"Even if she freezes to death?" Vex commented bitingly.

The mage looked at the pale haired thief warily, recalling her from Riften though her name escaped him. "You don't know what happened," he remarked defensively.

"No, we don't," Mercer retorted quietly, his gaze still on Amaris, "but I would certainly like to."

"Leave her out there," Vex suggested carelessly, "she will learn her lesson when a chill is upon her. She's being foolish and dramatic, no need for anyone else to drown with her. Besides, Mercer," she addressed her superior deliberately, wary of how his eyes were still on the redhead, "there is nowhere for her to go except back in here."

Mercer cocked his head back to the Imperial as she addressed him by name; he gave her a frosty look of curiosity and waited for her to continue on.

Sensing that she would have to continue her argument Vex glanced briefly to the bar and then back to Mercer. "You won't get any sense out of her," she reasoned, "not in her condition. Let's enjoy a drink and dry off. Look," she added reluctantly, "if she's not indoors in an hour I'll drag her in myself but I'm sure Cynric will have her in before then. Anyway, she's a grown woman," she added hotly, "let her sulk if she wants, she's old enough to know the risks of rain and cold weather. Come on, we should celebrate our success."

Mercer frowned as he deliberated on Vex's suggestion for a moment. He knew she was right, Amaris was clearly not in a state to be co-operative and explain what had gone on in the Blue Palace, the mage would not talk either, probably feeling it was up to the redhead to confess all, and Cynric was busy with that other man. Despite Mercer's impatient desires to hear an explanation for Amaris' public and bloody state he knew he would not get it soon. 'The mage is watching her,' he thought to himself, 'and there is only one door out of that miserable excuse for a garden, and it's back in here.'

"Alright," he muttered, "a drink then."

Vex gave a small smile at this before leading the way to the crowded bar. The inn itself was large, made of stone with wooden floors; it was well lit with a large fire set high in a stone base with a stone and copper plated chimney above it, and several candles hung on the walls and on stone columns in steel holders. The main decoration was a skeever's snarling head hung up on a wooden plaque behind the oak bar from which a coppery blonde Imperial male and a youthful blonde Imperial female provided service. The tables were all wooden and round, decorated with a strip of steel studs that ran around the edges of the tables and in one line across them; and the chairs were of mahogany, short with round posts at their backs and round knobs at the top of their legs. Adding some style were thin rugs of amber and turquoise with tattered ends and numerous stains of vomit, blood, alcohol and grease to mar their colours.

Thanks to the rain and the inn being the main inn of Solitude, the place was crowded and it was no surprise that when Cynric and Kester finally arrived there were no seats. Exhausted and struggling to calm Kester in the crowds, Cynric tried to get to the bar, half-dragging the assassin with him. Kester glanced about in a nervous movement with hostile blue eyes, muttering at the Nords, cursing the Altmer and grinning madly at the Argonians. When he started to clap out of time with the Breton bard's music and sing his own song about elven wenches, the delights of stars and a Nord king's nudity, Cynric decided quickly that it would be best putting the assassin in a room.

The thief looked wearily at the blonde Imperial behind the bar when after fifteen minutes of impatient pushing and cursing he finally made it to the front of the queue. He forced a charming smile to his face and quipped, "would there be any rooms left?"

The young woman took in the soaked thief before glancing over to the wild looking man who accompanied him and was currently trying to balance glasses on top of each other. "There might be," she said cautiously.

Cynric, too occupied with Kester to properly charm, tugged out a pouch of recently stolen coin and placed it pointedly on the sticky, wooden surface. "Would that be enough for there definitely to be a room, preferably two?"

The woman plucked the pouch up quickly, opened it carefully and then weighed it on one hand. It was a mixture of silver and copper septims and enough for the Imperial's dark eyes to light up. "Yes I would say so," she answered with a smile. "Luckily for you most people in here aren't staying, at least they're not paying to, I suppose most of them will pass out down here."

Cynric nodded, trying to curb his intolerance as Kester started stabbing his dagger down rapidly between gaps in his fingers. The woman looked at the fresh dents in the bar's surface with disapproval. "Could I have the keys now please?" Cynric asked with an almost pleading smile.

She nodded and hurried to fetch them. Returning she informed him, "they're on the second floor to your left, beside each other."

"Thank you." Cynric took the keys from the Imperial quickly, grabbed Kester tightly by his collar and pulled him back through the throng of people towards the stairs. "You can stay upstairs," he snapped back to the man as they reached the stairs at last.

Vex saw Cynric and Kester arrive, go to the bar and then to the stairs. She frowned, rolled her eyes and turned her attention back on Mercer. She and he were in a secluded spot, as far from Marcurio and his window as Vex could get them, though it did not stop the thief master from looking over at it every ten minutes. Vex had made a point of buying a particularly potent ale to take the edge off her temper and calm her slightly frayed nerves. Now she was on her third bottle whilst Mercer drank his second purposely slow. Vex knew the man was not an avid drinker but she was unwilling to believe he was such a weak one either.

"We're celebrating," she reminded him, almost forcefully. "Look, let's just forget our troubles for one night, yes? Sapphire and the others will be here soon and I think we should all have a good time, just for one night."

Mercer looked at her with an unimpressed expression. "Do as you like," he retorted without concern before looking back to the window once more.

Vex gritted her teeth and swallowed down a curse. 'Will I make good on my word and drag her in here soon?' she wondered. 'Someone should tell her what a burden she is; she'll ruin our whole Guild without even trying. Mercer should be in Riften fixing things not here chasing after ghost treasure.'

When Cynric finally joined them, having abandoned Kester in his own room, he brought Thrynn over as well and several fresh bottles of mead, which he offered to Vex and Mercer.

"Who was that man?" Mercer was quick to the point as he glowered at the younger Breton.

Cynric flinched at the anger in Mercer's stare and thought to himself, 'stupid to think one drink would make him forgive me. Well Amaris did say we technically didn't do anything wrong, he didn't order us to stay away from the palace.' He swallowed a deep sip from his own bottle as he contemplated an answer. "Kester," he went for the truth.

Mercer glared at him, waiting for him to continue and Cynric was not surprised to see that Mercer was only mildly startled by this information. 'Of course he guessed at it,' the Breton thought, 'he always seems to pick up on everything.' He glanced about the room and spied Marcurio at last. "Where's Amaris?" he queried.

"Outside," Mercer answered stiffly, his gaze going to the window yet again.

"I'll fetch her," Vex spoke up suddenly, "you two finish catching up." She shot Cynric a sly smile before heading to the door before Mercer could.

"Well," Mercer said coldly, snapping Cynric's attention from Vex back to him, "how in all of Oblivion did Kester Navingo end up in the Blue Palace? And do you think you could have attracted any more attention in there?" he added sardonically. "Of all the places to take her, you know the danger she's in here-"

"She wanted to go," Cynric cut him off hastily, "and you didn't ban us, and I thought it could help her memories."

"I didn't ban you," Mercer snapped back with a scolding glare, "because I thought one of the three of you might have had better sense. If the Thalmor are going to be about you can guarantee they would linger there, never mind everyone else, envoys from all over, if you wanted word of her to get across Skyrim quickly you couldn't have done it better. Wandering about in front of nobles and delegates covered in blood with a madman screaming at a palace wizard, and an Altmer at that! Why didn't you just hang a damn sign on yourself?!"

Cynric shrank back from his superior, glancing about as he noticed Mercer's yell had garnered them a couple of suspicious looks. Thrynn tried to play deaf, looking in every direction except the thieves' before finishing the rest of his ale and hastening back to the bar. "Look," Cynric pleaded, "can we talk about this later, more privately perhaps? I'll say this much, Sheogorath was involved-"

"WHAT?!" Mercer roared before he could help himself.

Some of the closer patrons fell silent whilst others consciously shifted away from the Breton. Cynric gulped down the last of his ale, wiped his lip and grinned dumbly at the Guild Master. "I...I couldn't have planned it, I swear, or prevented it. She just wanted to look at the palace, just the outside but then there was this beggar and he was babbling about his master and one thing lead to another and..."

"Shut up," Mercer growled out. He had spotted Vex and Amaris at last. The redhead was paler than usual, almost blue, drenched from head to toe though she did not quiver. She glanced up at Vex who pointed over in Marcurio's direction. Amaris headed towards the mage, pausing just once to look Mercer and Cynric's way with an empty stare.

Vex rejoined the thieves with a satisfied smile, though inside she filled with annoyance at being soaked once more and so soon after she had started to dry off. "There, she's inside and perfectly fine," she commented acidly, "now, can we lighten up and enjoy our victory?"

Cynric grinned and nodded though his cerulean stare betrayed his worry and Vex noticed how it flickered to Amaris. She sat opposite Marcurio, both of them soaked and in silence with no drinks or food between them. They seemed awkward and yet there was no hostility and neither of them made to move.

The day descended into evening, welcoming Sapphire and Vipir into the now rowdy inn. They joined the other thieves, and Vipir was quick to order stronger drinks for their small party, eager to catch up on the celebrations. Cynric had now brightened up, satisfied that Mercer wasn't going to kill him just yet, and had tried to get Marcurio and Amaris to join them in drinking, teasing them for being gloomy. Accepting that Amaris was unwilling, he had given her coin to rent a room, before insisting that Marcurio shared some Winking Shots with him.

As the evening wore on, Amaris finally left to her room leaving Marcurio to dance with the Breton bard Lisette and Vipir and Thrynn to a strange game with some Nords that involved wooden plates with colourful symbols on them and stripping. Mercer, ever wary of drink since their night with Sam, was deliberately drinking slower and less than everyone else, whilst Cynric was quite happily dulling his bad memories with as much drink as he could manage.

Vex watched Mercer, wanting to say or do something that would make him look her way and notice her, be drawn in the way most of the women in the inn were to Cynric. She had tried, after a few glasses of fine blue wine, to attract the Guild Master's attention with words but the sharp tongued Imperial was above flirting and unwilling to lower herself to it and so Mercer's responses had been blunt and uninterested. She had thought with Amaris gone to bed that her only obstacle had been removed but Mercer's abrasive attitude and broody look made it clear that there was one more obstacle in the way, Mercer himself.

She tried to draw up some courage with another gulp of sweet wine but then she saw him head to the stairs and realised that it was too late, the Breton was finally retiring to bed. She sighed in frustration and thought several curses before turning her attention to the rest of the room. She burned inside with a feeling of humiliation and rejection even though Mercer had not actually rejected her. 'Am I not attractive enough?' she wondered imprudently. 'Or intelligent enough? What am I lacking?'

The thief knew then that she could not go to bed alone, it would feel like too much of a defeat. Her pale amber stare fell on Cynric, smirking proudly at the small bevy of beautiful women who laughed at some dumb story he told, and then batted their long eyelashes at him as they vied for his attention. 'Let me prove I'm better than that hoard,' the Imperial thief thought viciously as she stepped towards him.

Cynric looked up as he saw Vex approaching, frosty eyed with her lip tugged down in a scowl that could not mar her attractive features. He dared not look hopeful as he deliberately turned his attention back to the brunette Nord who was stroking his left arm playfully and asking him to talk more about his adventures in Ivarstead.

"Cynric," Vex said his name as warmly as she could as she made it through the throng of women to stand before him.

He glanced up at her and his blue eyes widened in surprise as she kissed him suddenly. He gripped her shoulders tight, telling himself that he should refuse as she was only using him, once again a replacement for the unattainable Guild Master but this was Vex, beautiful, cold, amber eyed Vex! Nocturnal knew he would do anything to be in Vex's bed, anything to even taste her soft lips or stroke her creamy skin, she was tough, bold and lovely, the owner of many men's desires but the receiver of only a few.

She broke the kiss too soon, causing the male thief to swallow down a groan of protest. "Upstairs," she commanded, relishing how she could order him in front of all these other women, "now." She turned from him before he could kiss her again, walking purposely to the stairs.

Cynric watched her go with a wretched look, this was unfair for her to torment him so, she knew how he felt, she had to know, by Oblivion Brynjolf and Sapphire had figured it out. He could feel the stone cold, dark haired Nord's scornful gaze upon him. Yes, Sapphire knew and she knew what he would do now, how he would give in despite the pain it caused him, and follow after the Imperial because even just a moment with her was still something.

_She could hear him being sick, throwing up the parts of his brother, now so much meat and vomit. It turned her stomach and had her vomiting too down her broken body. They didn't like that, didn't like the smell, the sight or the sound. "Rejecting food," the voice came from somewhere unseen, "how ungrateful. Well we must punish that."_

_She screamed, pleaded and begged when they came at her. There were those fingers, long, thin and painful, they jabbed at her, poked and prodded and then wounded as they wielded the lash, leather, it stung swiftly and drew out blood almost immediately._

_Kester was silent, he was past caring, the pain meant nothing to him but to her, even after so many years it was still so fresh. "No," she sobbed, "please, no."_

He could hear the screams coming through the wooden walls, it made him pause at the door, hesitating for a moment. He had been walking to his room, frustrated, tired and fed up with the drunken revelry downstairs but then he had caught a sound in the air, at first sobs now screams. They were muffled by the wood, almost inaudible until one drew close to the door that contained them. He looked at the lock briefly for a moment, wondering if it would be wise to disturb her. She might only scream louder thinking him an intruder and draw others to them or worse, he might actually have to deal with her issues and he was certain he was too angry and unsettled for that.

When he heard the fear that filled her second scream he snapped a lockpick out from his sleeve and made swift work of the lock, a feeble defence at best. He had been stupid to allow her a room to herself, it was far too risky but then he had been so mad, telling himself that he shouldn't bother if she was only going to increase the risk to herself with exposure. Besides, Vex was probably right and she would not lead him to any treasure and would only prove herself valuable to the Thalmor, and as much as a bastard as he could be he would never sell her to them.

She was tossing wildly beneath the thin blanket, stripped to a silk petticoat and cotton vest top she should have been frozen but was instead soaked with sweat. The room felt cold; there was no fire to heat it, nor candles, all of them now burnt out, and no coal pan in her bed to offer warmth either. He knew immediately that a fever was upon her, unsurprising given how long she had stayed out in the icy rain with just a flimsy dress upon her.

"I'm sorry!" she shrieked. "I'm sorry! Don't hurt me! No...no more, no more, nnn no!" She started screaming again and then there was a wail.

She was so frightened he could not let it continue, besides, the noise of her would surely only draw more attention and that he definitely did not need. He hurried to her, grabbing her tightly by the shoulders and giving her a shake. "Wake up!" he snapped. "Wake up!"

For a moment she did not notice him but then after another shake the screams softened and then when he shouted again her eyes finally opened. They were blurred and bloodshot; her brow was beaded with sweat and her skin verging on grey, though it was hard to tell with only the light coming through the thin curtains on the window to aid his sight. Her head was pounding; it was painful enough for her to let out a groan of ache as she struggled to come to her senses. "Mercer?" she croaked in surprise.

"Yes," he retorted sharply. "You're making a lot of bloody noise," he scorned, "another nightmare."

She winced as the blind red eyes loomed out at her and then suddenly she was groaning again, twisting in his grasp and swatting at air weakly with both hands.

"Stop that," he growled at her, "you've a fever, your own fault for staying out in that rain. What possessed you?"

"I..." She swallowed down a mouthful of bile and pushed the thief back with one hand. Pushing herself up against the wall for support she swept some of her damp hair back from her brow and tried to meet his stare in the dark. Everything was dizzy, her vision swayed and was plagued with grey spots but she tried hard to ignore them and focus on her surroundings. "I couldn't face anymore people," she confessed, "I just needed to be outside and alone, even if it was raining."

"Why?" he demanded.

Her face scrunched up in a pain for a moment and when she relaxed again there were tears glittering in her eyes. "Everyone connected to me has suffered," she said softly, "that man with us, that poor madman is Kester," she explained. "Kester Navingo, one of the assassins my brother hired to kill me." She swallowed hard again but an image of Quintus screaming as they stabbed at him filled her and she found herself doubling over the left side of the bed and retching.

Mercer sighed in frustration as he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to continue.

She sat upright once more, her stomach now churning more than ever and her skull burning as if it was on fire. "Hadvar lost everything for me, I don't even know how much, my ma and his pa too, they spent their lives in fear while I was there, and then Quintus...he died but it wasn't quick, no," she trembled as she heard his screams, "no, no, no."

"Alright," Mercer interrupted her rambling in a blunt tone.

"And now Kester...he was with Sheogorath, the mad god, I don't know for how long...he's insane, and it's my fault. Now there's all of you, I can't do this, I can't see you all hurt or killed and for what?" She jerked her hands out at the thief and looked down at herself. "What am I? Who? What will you get for me? Only pain and death-"

"You don't know that," Mercer cut her off dismissively, "you don't remember anything to say for sure what you're worth and what you're not. Besides, that idiot mage has survived knowing you twice now and it's up to me to decide what I will and won't do. Do you think I'm stupid, is that it?" he queried angrily.

"No." Amaris shook her head at him with a look of surprise, reaching up with one hand to clutch her thumping skull.

"That's right," he snapped, "because I'm not. You were the prisoner of Falmer and Thalmor alike and they are looking for you, I understand all that but what I need to know, and what I will know is why. Now, as I said, you've got a fever and it's making you asinine and quite frankly annoying. We're all adults and capable of our own decisions."

"What about your guild?" she queried quietly.

"So Vex put this notion of abandoning us in your head then," he retorted harshly, "or played on it."

"You said you would accompany me to Solitude," Amaris commented, choosing to ignore his accusation, "and you have done that. What wealth my family could offer you? You took from my mother's home; there is nothing else I can give you."

"No," he argued immediately with a glower as he leaned into her, "you can give me the truth, all of it, as was our agreement."

"Mercer what if it's a dead end?" she demanded. "And only the Thalmor have interest in me? Then-"

"Then what?" he queried sharply. "All I've lost on you is time, and not even that considering the heists we have pulled and can continue to pull on our travels. You go alone to Clavicus Vile and you risk imprisonment or death, you cannot match the Thalmor by yourself and you know it."

Amaris shook her head helplessly. "I won't see you made mad or worse," she croaked, "it's not fair to put so many lives in danger for mine and all in the hopes of a gain you might never see."

"Let me worry about that, and don't let Vex manipulate you, you're smarter than that."

"It's not just Vex," she snapped at him in a sudden burst of anger as glowered through the darkness at him, "they are my own thoughts! I see Kester, he's just a shadow of what he was, and then Quintus is there screaming in my mind! They both are and I'm so, so afraid that there will be more screams to add to my nightmares before it's done.

I know you're intelligent, strong, swift and the best at what you do, but what if it's not enough? By all the Aedra please Mercer, I know I'm just a lump of treasure to you but that's not what you are to me and I cannot hear your screams too I can't." She clutched her skull tightly with both hands, bowed her head and cried silently.

A flinch escaped her when the back of his hand pressed against his brow. "You're burning up," he said gruffly as he withdrew it, "wait here and I'll get water." He stood up to go to the door and for a moment the blind red eyes were back, lurking in every corner of the room.

There was a tall form to the right, a black cloaked being with a whip in one hand, and to the left a misshapen hissing thing was just waiting for the right opportunity. "Don't!" she shouted out suddenly, stretching across her bed in a violent motion. When he looked back at her in cold puzzlement she stared up at him helplessly and begged, "please, I...I'm scared." It made her feel weak to admit it, especially to him, he was so scornful of her fears and the last person to be consoling over them but he was all she had right now.

He considered scolding her as he so often did, it would not take long for him to fetch her water and there was nothing in the room and no immediate danger nearby yet her eyes were so wide, and she was shaking even as she sweated. He reasoned with himself that she was not in her right state of mind and could not be blamed entirely for her hysteria. "Alright," he grumbled, "but you would be better with water."

She shook her head, looking about herself nervously as she hugged herself tight with both arms and leaned back against the wall.

"At least settle yourself better," he scorned.

She searched for his gaze but could not see it past the grey spots and glows of red. "They're everywhere," she said hoarsely, "just waiting, waiting for me to rest, they always did and then..." She swallowed down another sob. "Then they would grab me, suffocate me, stab me, burn me, always something, they wait, they're good at waiting, it goes on and on, they never tire but I do."

He sighed and stepped back to her, sitting on the bed once more. "What are you afraid of?" he demanded callously. "That they will come out of nowhere and snatch at you when you sleep?"

She nodded stiffly. "That's what they do."

"They're not here," he tried to reason with her but she only shook her head in protest.

"They wait," she repeated with fresh conviction. She released herself to grab her head with another agonised groan.

"You need to try and sleep," Mercer ordered her.

"No," she protested again, "no they'll grab me, their fingers are so cold, I remember that, clammy and cold and always there, always plucking at my hair, running down my skin," she shuddered, "just waiting..."

"I won't let them," he said sternly.

She shook her head once more as the tears trickled pathetically down her cheeks.

Mercer moved himself to sit beside her, sandwiching her between himself and the wall. "They can't get to you," he repeated.

She dared to lean into him and this time he flinched as her head rested on his right arm and she clutched at his dark shirt desperately with one hand. "Don't leave," she pleaded.

He sighed and lifted his arm, welcoming her head onto his chest and placing his arm protectively over her. "There," he grumbled with a scowl, "they can't get to you now."


End file.
